


Unrequited

by griseldalafey



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 47,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3215327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griseldalafey/pseuds/griseldalafey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years ago Belle had fallen into his arms and he had fallen for her. He’d buried his feelings in his heart, determined not to slip up. Until Ruby asks a favor of him. AU/No curse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All Star/ Halleluja

**Unrequited**  
Rated: T   
Pairings: Mr. Gold/Belle   
Disclaimer: It could not be less mine. Once Upon a Time belongs to Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis, ABC and Disney. This disclaimer applies for the whole story.   
Spoilers: As long as you've seen the first season and watch Disney on occasion, you're safe.   
Summary: Three years ago Belle had fallen into his arms and he had fallen for her. But he buried his feelings deep inside his heart, determined not to slip up. Until Ruby asks a favor of him. AU/No curse.   
Genre: Romance/Drama   
  
**Chapter 1: All Star/Halleluja**   
  
He re-arranged his body a fraction so he'd have a better view on the bar. Safely hidden from casual looks thrown his way by the large Wallstreet Journal he pretended to be reading - thanking his lucky stars that it had not yet switched to tabloid size - he sipped his strong double espresso and peered cautiously around the edge of his paper.   
She was seated on one of the stools at the bar, her red coat and brown leathered satchel bag carelessly tossed on the stool next to her. From his vantage point he could observe her carefully.   
_'Staring, you old snake_ ,' his ever present, ever accusing inner-voice admonished him. ' _It's called staring… leering even if you want to pinpoint it exactly._ '

And yet, he couldn't help himself. He allowed his eyes to travel from he elegant, sky-high, chocolate brown heels, across the shapely legs clad in brown stockings to the wool, caramel-colored dress she was wearing, the large belt around her waist accentuating all her beautiful curves. His gazed lingered at the curve of her neck, visible because she wore her chestnut curls up in a high bun today, only a few soft strands dancing around her ears, contrasting sharply with the brilliant white of her skin. From this particular booth he could just make out her profile. The high forehead, her sparkling blue eyes with the impossible long eyelashes, her rosy cheeks and her smiling mouth. Those red, plump lips that seemed forever to be moving. Chatting, smiling, grinning…   
It struck him once again how he had never come across someone who was so lively, so vibrant. She was leaning on the bar, eating her cereal, sipping her coffee and talking to Ruby, the rather fierce waitress of Granny's Diner who took full advantage of the momentarily lull during breakfast rush to talk to her friend. Apparently Ruby had said something highly amusing, because her melodious laughter rang through the diner.

Realizing he was in a great danger of raising suspicion if he continued looking at her for much longer, he shifted his gaze back to the words on the page before him, enjoying the familiar tingling sensation the sound of her laughter always evoked within him.   
It was all worth it. The relentless mockery inside his head. The burning shame he felt when he sat down to watch what wasn't his, what never would or could be his. The fear of getting caught out and having to endure her disgust, her anger or far worst than that, her pity.

It was all worth it, just to hear Belle French laugh.

* * *

 

It had all started out as one of his schemes. Years ago, as he had invested the very successful outcome of a business deal into various real estate in town, he had bought the old library building. The building and the library that had found its home there had been declining for many years by then and as a result the library was heavily neglected and at the time there hadn't been the need nor the resources to keep the facility open. So instead, he had stored the valuable part of the library's collection of books away, spend some money on the external renovation of the building and rented it out to various business entrepreneurs who had exploited the building as a clothing boutique, a restaurant and for a very short time a candlemaker's store.

Then Mayor Mills had gotten the crazy idea into her head that Storybooke town should compete for the title of 'Fairest town of them all', a competition held every five years throughout Maine, determining which town could boast on being the best-kept, best facilitated, generally best town to live in of the state. Having a library had been a major condition in being eligible to even enter the competition and he had fared well by the sudden demand, being able to supply both the building and the inventory for a library. Technically, only the building and part of the collection belonged to him, in reality the entire library was his, since Mayor Mills had taken up a substantial loan to be able to finance the rest of realization of the library. As primary investor and owner of the building he had a decisive say during board direction meetings and he had exercised that control fully when it had come to appointing a librarian.

He had already sat though four excruciating, mind-numbing job interviews - with the last candidate he had seriously wondered if she was able to read at all - when the fifth and final candidate had walked in. Despite his reputation, he hadn't been too old, or too solitary to notice that she was attractive. When she had introduced herself as 'Belle French' he'd thought the name suited her well.   
But it had particularly been her clear, crystal blue eyes and the way she had looked him straight in the eye for the entire duration of their encounter that had sparked his interest. He had grilled her mercilessly during the interview, her witty rebuttals to his sharp, critical questions only edging him on further. She had stood her ground firmly, but from the red spots appearing in her neck he could tell he was definitely getting under her skin and he had enjoyed himself immensely.   
At the end of the day, she'd been offered the position of librarian - being miles ahead of every other candidate, although he never bothered to tell her that - and he had looked forward to their collaboration. She amused him. He wanted to draw her out and see how far he could push her before he gained the upper hand in their verbal sparring. She was smart, she had every promise of becoming an excellent librarian and she wasn't bad to look at.   
He had definitely struck worst types of deals in his life.

Then, about a week before the library was about to be re-opened, he'd stopped by the place to check on the progress of the furnishing. He'd used his master key to enter the building and walked into the deserted main area, rather impressed to see that the ceiling-high bookcases were already filled with books and neatly categorized. His new librarian had certainly been busy. Carefully putting his cane down - an aid he used since the horrible events that had transpired eighteen years ago - so to not make any noise, he followed the sound of her humming, quietly as a mouse making his way through the maze of bookcases.   
When he finally spotted her, he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening at the sight in front of him. Only a few feet away, standing on her tiptoes on the world's most unstable stepladder stood Belle French, pulling furiously at the black adhesive plastic covering the windows. He couldn't hold back a grin as she cursed softly under her breath and muttered: "Did they bloody hot glued this on?" before giving another massive tug.

Then several things happened at once. A large piece of the plastic came undone, causing Belle to stagger backwards and the stepladder to wobble dangerously. She flapped her arms to try and steady herself but then one of her stiletto heels slipped off the ladder and she started to tumble backwards. Purely on instinct, he rushed forward, his cane dropping to the floor as he reached out and caught her just before she hit the ground. She didn't cry out until then, her arm automatically going around his neck, her head landing on his shoulder with a soft thud. He stumbled on the spot, his ankle protesting sharply agains the sudden movement and he gripped her tighter to hold on. After finally regaining his balance, he stared into her eyes, overwhelmed by a rush of sensations caused by how her eyes seemed so much bluer and brighter up close, especially surrounded by the dark eyelashes. How her hair smelled of something flowery… How warm and soft her body felt in his arms. How he was actually holding a woman in his arms, one that wasn't scrambling to get away from him or looked at him in disgust. He continued to stare into her eyes for what felt like a lifetime, captivated by the look of wonder in them, until she made a soft noise and the spell broke.   
Shaking his head slightly he suddenly became aware that he was still cradling her close and he put her down awkwardly, stepping away the second he was certain she was standing on her own two feet.

"M-Mr. Gold!" she said breathlessly, bringing up a shaking hand to wipe a strand of hair out of her face. Then she looked up at him, a smile starting at the corners of her mouth and soon filling her entire face. "Thank you… you've saved my neck just there."

He made an unarticulated sound, words not forming in his still dazed mind. To buy himself some time he turned around to pick up his cane. By the time he'd risen up, he had managed to find a semblance of control again and when she asked him - still with that dazzling smile on her face - "Why did you stop by anyway?" he was able to reply, albeit his words came out a lot harsher than he intended them to be.

"I was merely checking on my investment, Miss French. I didn't anticipate to encounter a librarian with a death wish. Or with a desire to end my life." He eyed her heels with a malicious frown.

To his utter surprise, she merely laughed at his words, a bubbly giggle that caused his heart an unexpected flutter.

"I assure you I have neither," she reassured him. "I was just trying to get that hideous plastic off and let some sunlight in."

He was taken aback by her easy friendliness. Usually people couldn't get away from him fast enough, she however was gathering the pieces of plastic she had managed to get off and continued to chatter as she made her way towards the circulation desk.

"The place is coming together nicely," she informed him. "I'm almost done categorizing and shelving the books. And for the official opening next week, Mrs Jones has agreed to cater."

It was too much, he decided. His head was swimming and he felt suffocated between the walls and the endless shelves of books. Needing to get away from her overwhelming presence and those vibrant eyes that bore holes in his skin, he cut her off mid-sentence.

"I must leave now. I trust you will handle all the preparations adequately."

He knew he had spoken harshly again and for the first time since he'd entered the library a look of uncertainty clouded her face. He had already began to limp away when her voice stopped him.

"Mr Gold… wait…"

Against his own better judgement he paused and turned back again. She was looking at him far more abashed than she ever had before, her voice sounding quiet and subdued.   
"I'm sorry about before… But I'm glad you were there… so thank you… again…"

"It's no matter…" He aimed to sound nonchalantly, but cringed inwardly at the hoarseness of his voice. Then he did turn around and walked away. Faster than he should, considering his ankle was throbbing dully. But not nearly as fast as the frantic beating of his heart.

* * *

 

Sleep never found him that night. He lay wide-awake, staring at the ceiling, reliving the encounter in the library again and again. He could recall the feel of her and the smell of her scent so vividly as if his senses had burned them into his memory. He had spend the last eighteen years alone, carefully constructing walls around himself. He knew he was feared in town, his reputation of ruthless businessman, lawyer and landlord was widespread. He was known for his shrewd deals, his scheming and his ability to present agreements that made everyone bend to his will.

'Every loan is going to cost you.' He must have spoken those words a hundred times in the past two decades. Ever since he stopped caring. Ever since he had learned that all that mattered in life was that he never lost the upper hand. He didn't give freely and he never received anything he hadn't earned. Either by manipulation or because he had paid the price. Nothing ever happened to him before he had calculated the consequences first. Until now.

He'd tried with all his might to reason this sudden rush of emotion away, for the first time welcoming the voice that mocked and ridiculed his feelings.   
_'You lecherous bastard… a pretty face and a warm body is all it takes, doesn't it? Not yet decrepit enough not to lust after that…'_

It was just lust. Just a primal craving, he decided as the first daylight crept through his window. Nothing more. And as he got dressed and went about his day, he forced himself not to remember her eyes or the feel of her arm around his neck or the soft lilt in her voice.

In the days that followed he began to feel like fate had it in for him, because she was everywhere he turned. She was at the news kiosk, leafing through a magazine just as he was buying his morning paper. She was at Granny's diner as he went in for a coffee or a quick bite to eat. She was crossing the street, just as he rounded the corner, her nose buried in a book. She appeared in his dreams the moment he closed his eyes and drifted off. And every time he saw her his heart clenched with longing.

Eventually he admitted defeat. He had fallen for her the moment she'd fallen into his arms. This realization gave him an odd sense of resignation. But acknowledging his feelings didn't mean he would give in to them. He buried his feelings deep inside his heart to be treasured and cherished there, but closed it off all the same.   
He might held on to his love for her, but he would not, could not ever pursue her.   
Instead he placed himself under a tight reign. He didn't visit the library more than once, occasionally two times a month. When he came by to collect rent he kept his calls as brief and businesslike as possible. He never looked at her for more than a second before adverting his eyes. He was careful never to mention her name or to talk about her. He wouldn't slip up. He wouldn't give himself away.

The only concession he allowed himself was his morning espresso at Granny's Diner. If anyone would have asked - though no one ever did- he would have claimed that Ruby's talents as a barista ensured he got a decent shot of caffeine every morning. 

In reality he was there because she was there every morning. From behind his paper at his secluded booth he lived for these short daily moments where he could just watch her.   
She slipped into her coat and swung her bag over her shoulder. He stared firmly at his paper as she passed his booth, her heels softly clicking on the tiles. He didn't release his breath until the little bell above the door chimed.

It had been three years now

* * *

Author's note: This was my first Rumbelle story and I've posted it to ff.net previously. But I want this site to be the place to store all my Rumbelle-fics, so I'm going to post it here as well. 

I'd love to hear what you think! 

 


	2. Belle

**Chapter 2: Belle**

She kept her eyes firmly on the man in front of her, careful not to show any signs of discomfort or annoyance. "Really Gaston, it was nice to catch up with you, but I really must go home now."  
Gaston Frollo ran his hand through his thick, black hair, puffed out his chest and smirked at her. "Really Belle, what've you got to hurry home to? Have a burger with me and the guys… I'll show you how we beat the losers of that lousy excuse for a team we played again last weekend. LeFou has filmed the whole thing." 

He took a few steps forwards her, invading her personal space and slid his arm around her waist. Feeling the anger bubble up inside her, Belle tried to twist away from his gasp.  
"I said no, Gaston! I want to go home. I've been working all day!"

He snorted at that, his fingers digging painfully into her waist. "At that library? What do you do there all day that gets you tired? Reading?" He sneered the last word.  
"Come on, babe," his voice became silky again. "I'll make it worth your while…"

"Did LeFou really tape the entire match?" Belle asked, trying to divert his attention, trying to block out how her skin was crawling at the feel of his hands on her.

"I sure did, Belle," Donny LeFou, Gaston's faithful sidekick piqued up in his wheezy voice, his round, puffy face all red. "I got some great moves from Gaston, you really should see them!"  
He was practically jumping up and down in excitement and Belle was surprised he wasn't actually salivating over Gaston's so-called spectacular accomplishments on the field.

Gaston Frollo was captain of The Mighty Ducks, Storybrooke's local amateur Football team and had been for the past ten years, still hoping to catch his big break and play professionally one day.

"Get lost, LeFou," Gaston growled, irritation showing on his face and he shoved the tiny guy away. Belle took full advantage of this momentarily distraction by wriggling herself out of his grasp. She quickly took a few steps backwards and started to walk away before he could grab her again or try and convince her once more to join him.  
"I'll see you around, Gaston!" she called over her shoulder, walking as fast as her high heels would let her.

It wasn't until she turned the corner into the quiet street where her apartment complex was, that she dared to slow down. Rummaging through the pocket of her coat, she pulled out her key and climbed up the stairs. Her small, two-room apartment was on the first floor and as soon as she unlocked the front door she was greeted by loud meowing.

"Hi Duchess," she grinned, bending down to pet the cat that was waiting for her. "Thank goodness I made it home."

She stepped into the apartment, put her coat away and made her way into the kitchen, Duchess following her, purring and meowing and occasionally rubbing her white, furry head against her legs. "I know you're hungry," she cooed. "I'm going to fix you some dinner."  
She put Friskies into a bowl and some left-over risotto from yesterday into the microwave. Ten minutes later Duchess had already finished her dinner, while Belle was settling down on the couch with her dinner tray and a book.

* * *

 

Returning to Storybooke after she had received her Master's degree from Boston University had by no means been an obvious choice. Growing up, Belle had barely ever felt truly happy in Storybooke, for various different reasons. To begin with, she wasn't born and raised there, which, in a close-knit community like Storybooke was the first requirement for being included. Instead she had moved there with her father at the age of thirteen. For any teenage girl it would have been hard to fit into a new school and an entire new social group, for Belle it had been a thousand times more difficult because she had lost her mother in a car accident only shortly before moving to Storybooke.

Belle missed her mother dreadfully. Her entire life had been turned upside down by her death and now that it was just her and her father, she realized just how much her mother had always protected her. She had always known her father had his 'spells', as her mother referred to them. When she was young, she hadn't thought much about them, only that they were sometimes quirky and sometimes rather sad. During his quirky spells, her father would acquire an obsessive interest in a subject. There had been stamps, trains and graffiti art. She never cared much about the stamps, but when her father had developed an obsession for model trains, she had participated eagerly. Some of her happiest memories of him revolved around the hours spend at the attic in their Boston suburban home, where her father had created a miniature world of fairy-tale like villages, a forest and even a tiny river, all connected by railways and electric trains. The graffiti-phase that had occurred a year before her mother's accident had been fun as well.

But there had also been the dark spells. Weeks, sometimes turning into months where her father refused to even leave his bedroom. Weeks in which the house was quiet and dark because her father couldn't bear to see any light or to hear any noise. During those times she barely recognized the man with the gaunt, unshaven face, forever in his dressing gown, staring into nothing with empty eyes, as her father.

It had been her mother who had tried with all her might to give her a childhood that was as normal as possible. She took Belle for picnics in the park, so she could enjoy the sun and the outdoors, she constantly navigated between her husband and her daughter, ensuring her daughter didn't suffer too much from her father's depression and her husband wasn't bothered by the liveliness of their daughter. She never complained, never let on, always put on a brave face and tried to make sure her loved ones didn't suffer.

For the most part, she succeeded at that. Belle, observant and smart knew very well things were amiss. She realized fully that her father was very different from those of other girls, but mostly because of her mother's efforts, it never really troubled her. And whenever the strain became too much, whenever her home became to suffocating and too much like a prison she escaped into her world of books.

But then came the day that still haunted her dreams occasionally.  
A bright sunny day. Two policemen showing up at their home in Boston. A stupid accident. A truck-driver that hadn't seen her mother as she had crossed the street, just as he was driving backwards into a narrow street. The funeral. Her father's wailing. His despair.

For the first two months after her mother's death, her father had been desolate and Belle had been completely at loss at how to deal with it. Still fragile after the terrible loss she had suffered, she had been rather desperate herself at how to continue. But then all of a sudden, her father had emerged from the depths of his depression and in a matter of weeks had launched himself into a new obsession: flowers. All of a sudden he wanted to be an expert in plant and flower biology. From the money of her mother's life insurance policy, he took over a florist shop and before Belle truly realized what was happening a moving van drove her away from the place that held the memories of her mother to a strange little town in Maine called Storybrooke.

Surprisingly, her father's new business had been quiet successful those first years. The money wasn't great, but enough to live by and although her father was always busy and away from home a lot, Belle was reasonably happy, albeit a little lonely. Making new friends had been difficult for her. At her new school she often felt out of place. The girls in her class thought her odd with her accent and her devotion to reading, the guys thought she was boring and a bookworm. She felt years older than most of her classmates. Their complaints about spats with their mothers, impossible curfews and strict fathers only made her envious and realize how completely out of the ordinary her life was.  
She found a friend in Ruby Lucas though. In a way, Ruby and her had had similar experiences. Ruby had lost both her parents early in life and was raised by her grandmother who owned Granny's Diner.

It had lasted for a little over two years. During that time Belle had gradually started to believe that her father was stable now. That the responsibility of owning a business, the structure of hard work and the fact that his flowers and floral arrangements were still in demand kept him sane.

She couldn't have been more wrong. She was fifteen when it all started to go downhill. She'd spotted the signs immediately. Her father became quiet and withdrawn. The florist shop, that had brought him so much joy before now became a burden, the numerous orders causing him stress, the daily delivery becoming a heinous task. She tried to help him out as much as she could, hurrying home the second her last class had ended. She helped out in the shop, sorted out the deliveries, put the bouquets and flower pieces together, basically did everything she felt her mother would have done.  
There were days when her father was more or less approachable. And there were days when he refused to leave his bed. They fell into a pattern. She looked after him, cooked for him, cleaned their house and took care of the shop. By the time she was sixteen she was managing the accounts and did the bookkeeping. On his good days, her father contributed, on his bad days, she was there to cover for him. It wasn't easy, but she didn't know any better and in a way she just carried on, taking each day as it came, trying not to worry too much about the future.

But slowly and more seriously than ever before his situation started to deteriorate. He started having hallucinations, seeing things that weren't really there. For Belle, one of the most painful moments came when he started to talk to her mother again, convinced that she had returned to him. She had tried everything to bring him back. She tried to get him to see a psychiatrist , insisted he took his pills and tried to be home with him as much as possible.

But the delusions became increasingly more serious and violent and one night it all spiraled out of control. Belle, coming down with the flu, had gone to bed early and was woken hours later by two policemen ringing the doorbell, causing her a horrible feeling of deja-vu. The notice the two officers brought was very different from what she'd been told four years ago, but not less devastating. After she'd fallen asleep, her father had slipped into one of his paranoid delusions, convinced that someone was trying to finish him off. So he had taken a torch and a baseball bat and marched into town, screaming and raving through the dark streets that there was a monstrous beast on the loose, trying to kill him.  
In his demented state he had believed everyone that approached him to be the monster and lashed out with the bat to whoever dared to come near him, hurting two bystanders who tried to help him in the progress.  
He was charged with battery, but never made it to a trial because he was deemed mentally unstable. Instead he was court-ordered to surrender to a psychiatric facility and placed in a closed ward. Belle tried to get him transferred to Boston, because she felt that at Storybooke General he was only kept sedated and locked up, but the judge handling the case refused to give permission, so instead Belle had to endure the fact that her father was put away only a few miles away from her and wasn't getting the treatment he needed.

In addition to that, she became pretty much an outcast in town herself. The people of Storybooke could be horribly prejudiced one judgemental and soon the general opinion decided that Moe French was a dangerous lunatic who was rightfully behind bars and that his odd daughter was probably as delusional as he was.

After her father had been admitted she'd feared for a while that she would end up in the system herself, but then Mrs Lucas had stepped up. She'd reasoned successfully with the mayor that it was ridiculous to put a seventeen year old girl into a foster family - ten months before she'd be coming of age and offered Belle a place to stay with her. Belle had gratefully moved into the apartment above the diner, together with Mrs Lucas and Ruby. Once everything had settled down, she became determined to leave Storybooke at the earliest opportunity and her best chance at that was getting accepted into a university. So she threw herself into her studies, trying to earn high enough grades, busted tables at Granny's Diner to save up money and took out a student loan to pay for tuition.

Two days after her eighteenth birthday she left Storybooke for Boston University, vowing to never come back to the place, except for when she was visiting her father.

Moe French's condition and health steadily grew worse over time. A stroke during her Freshman Year confined him to his bed and from that moment on he was almost permanently hallucinating, more and more often not recognizing Belle when she came to see him. Eventually he died at the end of her Sophomore Year and as sad and heartbroken as Belle was over his departure, a part of her felt glad that at least his suffering had ended.

Belle graduated with a BA in English Literature, secured herself a scholarship and decided to try and make a living out of what she loved most: books. For the next two years she continued to pursue a Master degree in Library and Information Science. Then she felt it was time for some adventure. Her mother had originally been from Australia and she had always longed to spend some time on the continent her mother grew up on, so after graduation she had left everything behind and backpacked through Australia for two years, soaking in an environment that felt so strangely familiar and even visiting some distant family members. Although her time in Australia had been an amazing experience, one she wouldn't have traded for anything in the world, upon her return to the US she was faced with a very practical problem: there weren't many positions as a librarian available and a two year gap on her resume because of her travels proved to be a bit of a problem.

During her time in Australia, she had gotten out of touch with Mrs Lucas and Ruby. After her father's dead she'd felt little desire to go back to Storybooke. During the first months they'd skyped regularly, but eventually the contact between them had faded somewhat until she returned. With the possibilities of social media though it was easy to track Ruby down and the two of them agreed to meet and catch up.

On Ruby's insistence Belle agreed to come to Storybooke. In the days prior to her meeting with Ruby, Belle constantly had to fight down a wave of aversion at the thought of returning to the town, even going as far as to contemplate canceling. Eventually she told herself not to be a wimp and just go. Surprisingly enough, once she drove into Storybooke, she felt that much of her bitterness towards the place had vanished. There was something comforting about the familiar surroundings and as she drove around - she was too early for her meet-up with Ruby anyway- she found herself remembering the good times more than she did the bad times.

Still, when Ruby had told her over dinner that Storybrooke's library was about to be re-opened and that the position of librarian was yet to be filled she didn't immediately jump at the chance. She drove back to Boston that evening very much torn at what to do. Two weeks later though, her mind was made up. There had been no other suitable job openings available and despite the fact that Storybooke was still a rather secluded community and that the people in it were not always the easiest to deal with, the job itself was perfect for her. So she submitted her resume a day before the application closed and promptly got an interview.

The rest, as they say, was history. She moved back to Storybrooke, into a nice apartment, only a twenty minute walk away from the library. Her absence of seven years had taken the sharp edges of the gossip and stories about her and her father, so after some effort she eventually managed to find her footing in the community. She picked up a cat from the shelter, filled her apartment with books, high heels and skirts and became all things considered rather happy.

* * *

 

Around nine she regretfully closed her book, gently put Duchess down from her lap and got to her feet to turn on her laptop and to put the dishes in the dishwasher. Then she sat down and started on some paperwork. She put the money for the rent of her apartment into an envelope and then focused on the Excel file on the screen in front of her.

Upon taking the position as librarian she had been surprised to find out that Mr. Gold, the library's main investor had been much involved in the day to day running of the library, at least where financial matters were concerned. Part of her contract stated that she had to present him a financial statement every month, updating him on the library's costs and benefits. It wasn't too much work as long as she kept up with the figures and she'd never gotten complaints about her monthly reports, but it was still odd. Apparently Mr. Gold liked to be on top of things.

It probably explained why he insisted on collecting rent personally and in cash every month as well. She figured it must take him ages to collect from everyone because he owned half the town, but it did establish his reputation as fearsome landlord.

After three years, the man was still a bit of an enigma to her. Growing up she'd never had much to do with him. Her father had never taken a loan from him even though the florist shop was failing miserably at the end. When after his dead she'd wrapped up the business she had been very glad for that.

The first time she'd met him properly was during her job interview. Out of the entire interview committee, he had certainly been the most intimidating one. He had fired off question after question at her, catching her on words and twisting it around to see how she would respond to it. It had been challenging, but she hadn't really minded it. In a way, it was fun. Still freshly out of college, it was good to find out what she was worth in the real word and she was pleased to notice that she was at least able to give a proper answer to all of his questions. Half way through the interview she'd forgotten that there were other people present as well and had just focused entirely on him, determined not to be outdone by the gleam in his eyes and the slight smirk around his lips as he tried to outsmart her.

She'd gotten the job and spend a month putting the library together. She remembered the afternoon he'd come into the library to check on the progress only too well and she cringed with embarrassment every time she thought about it.  
Even so, if it hadn't been for him, she had probably ended up with a cracked skull. She still remembered the split second of paralyzing terror as she had felt herself falling backwards helplessly and then the unexpected feel of a pair of strong arms around her.

For the first seconds she'd only been able to stare, her heart pounding in her ears, still terrified. He'd gripped her tighter, swaying with the effort to keep his balance and she'd clung to him, her arm wrapped around his neck, in a way clinging to the safety he offered. When she'd put her hand on his chest, she'd felt the furious hammering of his heart and when she'd looked back up in his eyes she could see a storm of emotions there. Up until then she'd never noticed just how dark his eyes were and she was quickly losing herself in them. She was seeing for the first time everything that was behind that carefully constructed mask and she'd gasped softly in surprise.

Of course that had brought him back to his senses and he had put her down and pulled his walls right back up.

Later on she often wondered if she had really seen anything at all, or if her adrenaline-rushed mind had just played a trick on her. Every meeting since then had been a tense, awkward affair, were he spoke not a syllable more than was strictly necessary and barely even looked at her. She'd come to the conclusion that he apparently didn't approve of her and although he never openly critiqued her, he made it perfectly clear he wanted to have as little to do with her as possible.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a thing for backstories and I liked thinking up Belle's.


	3. Something There

It was a chilly, rainy Thursday night in October when he drove back into Storybooke around eight o' clock, after what felt like one of the longest meetings of his life. A dull headache was throbbing behind his temples and his ankle was aching, probably due to the sudden drop of temperature. Not feeling like cooking for himself or exert himself in any way to obtain food, he opted to stop by at Granny's Diner for a quick meal. He sat down at his usual booth and ordered a steak from Ruby, looking uncomfortably around him and wishing he'd brought his newspaper. He noticed that the place was pretty packed for a regular Thursday and that it took a while before his steak arrived. But upon noticing the somewhat wild look on Ruby's face and the drops of perspiration on her forehead as she put down his plate, he decided against commenting on it. It was only then that he realized that she was managing the place by herself and that Mrs Lucas was nowhere in sight.

He felt secretly relieved by this.Grandma Lucas, as she was affectionately called in town, hated his guts and although he never lacked the sarcasm to reply to her often openly hostile remarks, he was grateful there wouldn't be any display of that tonight. Ruby came to collect his plate soon after he had finished his meal and he was surprised to find her lingering at his table.  
"Is something the matter, Miss Lucas?" he asked her, eyebrows raised.

"Well… yes…" The provocatively dressed waitress fiddled nervously with the plate in her hands. "Actually… I wanted to ask something of you, Mr. Gold."

He decided there and then that if she asked him for a loan, he would refuse. Grandma Lucas would have his head.  
Along with various other parts of his body.

"What can I do for you?" he pressed on, wishing the girl made her point.

"Well, it's not me exactly… it's for my friend, Belle French…"

Immediately he froze and he felt his jaw clenching. "What about her?" he managed to grunt out.

"Well, she works until nine at library tonight," Ruby started to explain hurriedly. "And I promised to pick her up there when she's done. Right now it's not a good idea for her to be out on the streets alone, so we usually walk back to her flat together…"

"Hold it!" He interrupted her sharply. "Why shouldn't she be outside on her own?"

"Because of Gaston Frollo, he's been bothering her lately…" Ruby was still picking up speed as she talked. "He keeps asking her out and although she keeps say 'no', he isn't exactly picking up on it…"

"Why hasn't the sheriff been informed about this?" He asked, anger boiling to the surface. He knew exactly who Gaston Frollo was, a pompous, conceited, self-serving jerk of a young man.  
More importantly, he knew who Gaston's father was.

"Belle thinks she can handle it," Ruby replied, her expressive eyes turning worried. "But I've dealt with Gaston Frollo before … he is bad news and I don't trust him."

"Hey sister, I'm still waiting for that burrito!" an angry voice called from the bar.

"Coming!" Ruby yelled back.  
"Look," she said hurriedly, "I promised I'd meet her after the library closes, but my gran went home sick earlier this evening and I'm on my own here. Could you please walk her back to her flat? I don't think anyone would dare to try anything with you around."

Panic started in the pit of his stomach and he took a deep breath to gather his thoughts. Ruby however was running out of time.

"Please?" she implored, her face pleading. A surge of protectiveness flared up inside him. No harm would come to Belle if he could help it. He gave Ruby a grim nod.  
"Not to worry, Miss Lucas. I'll see to it that your friend gets home safely."

Ruby visibly relaxed at this confirmation. "Thank you Mr. Gold. I owe you one."

He got to his feet and clenched his fingers around the handle of his cane, giving the waitress a small smile.  
"Never mind. Consider it a favor."

* * *

 

Checking his watch as he stepped out of the diner, he realized he had only five minutes to make it to the library and to ready himself for a meeting with her were he couldn't hide behind the excuse of a business call. It would take all of his willpower to keep his mask in place and his feelings in check while he was feeling like a nervous wreck on the inside. With every step he took he became more worried if she would even allow him to walk her home, or that she would be repulsed by the suggestion of his company as was the default opinion of the rest of the town. And on top of that he was out of his mind with aggravation and worry about the fact that someone was trying to intimidate and scare _his_ Belle.

It was because of that mostly that he continued walking.  
 _'She's got a monster now to protect her against the villain_ ,' the voice whispered viciously. _'How wonderful for her._ '

He arrived at the library just as she was closing the door behind her. When she turned, she looked around, presumably trying to find Ruby, a look of apprehension crossing her face as she didn't see her. Gathering his courage he stepped away from the shadows and announced himself quietly.  
"Good evening, Miss French."

She swirled around, her eyes widening in surprise. "Mr Gold! What are you doing here?"

He came closer, carefully arranging his facial expression into a calm, collected look. "Miss Lucas sends her apologies. Her grandmother has taken ill and she was unable to meet you tonight, so she asked me to come instead."  
He braced himself for her reaction, inwardly preparing himself for the rejection that would undoubtedly follow, but nevertheless he felt his heart sink when she let out a soft groan and lowered her head.

"She told you then, didn't she?" she asked warily.

"She told me of Mr. Frollo's… persistent method of asserting his wishes, yes," he answered in a flat tone of voice.  
To his surprise she laughed at that, the warm, infectious giggle that was so characteristically Belle and he felt the corners of his lips turn up of their own accord. She was utterly beautiful, standing there in the soft yellow light of a streetlamp, dressed in her bright red winter coat, a warm shawl wrapped snuggly around her neck and her eyes sparkling joyfully.

"Did she now?" she asked with a hint of mischievous in her voice. Then she sobered a little, looking up at him earnestly.  
"Really Mr. Gold, I appreciate you coming here, but you needn't trouble yourself on my account. I'm sure you have better things to do…"

He was very quick to reassure her. "Don't worry about that. It would be my pleasure to walk you home."

She remained hesitant for a moment longer, before giving him a relieved smile. "If you truly don't mind… then yes, please Mr. Gold. I'd feel a lot safer."

He indicated the road with a small nod of his head, inwardly unclenching. "Shall we?"  
As she fell into step besides him, he managed for a moment to just simply enjoy her company. Then about half a minute later he realized he had absolutely no idea what to say to her. He tried to think of an interesting, compelling subject to talk to her about and his mind came up blank.  
Then he tried to think of just _anything_ to say to her that would break the silence that was growing more uncomfortable by the second and the panic settled back in full force.

"I hope Grandma Lucas' condition isn't too serious?" her worried voice penetrated his petrified haze.

"Oh… no…" He collected himself. "Ruby informed me she went home this afternoon, not suffering of rheumatism."

"Ow…" Belle gave a sympathetic shudder. "Poor Grandma… this weather must be horrible for her."

"I can imagine," he nodded, suddenly noticing the book she was holding as they walked. "What are you reading?"

She showed him the cover and his eyes widened in surprise. " _Frankenstein_? Really?"

"Don't give me that look!" she admonished him cheerfully. "It's one of my favorites. It's beautifully written."

"It is," he consented and she almost squeaked with delight.

"You've read it? What did you think of it?"

She was asking him how he liked a book about a monstrous creature that repulsed everyone in sight and was unable to find love no matter how hard he tried.

Irony was a bitch.

"It's rather tragic." He ventured eventually. "Frankenstein creates a being that even he can't bring himself to care for. He created a true monster."

"The only monster in that story is Frankenstein himself," Belle countered vehemently. "He creates a helpless being, craving love and companionship and then turns his back on him. The creature has a lot more going for him than Frankenstein has."

God, he loved to see her all fired up like that.

"The creature ends up being a mass murderer," he argued though. "He does some unforgivable things."

"Perhaps," she admitted, "but it's all about the context. "He wasn't created to be a monster. He became one because his every attempt at finding love failed. He became a monster out of circumstances."

"But a monster nevertheless. Does the reason why matters, when the end result is this devastating?"

"I think it does," she answered after some thought. "He's still able to choose. Given alternative options, I think he'd able to change. Or rather let his non-violent side prevail."

"So, by your logic, the creature could still be redeemed?" he asked, not quite sure why he was holding his breath.

"Of course he could. He never had to become a murderer in the first place."

They were walking slowly now, completely engrossed in their conversation and he was enthralled by her.

"He begs Frankenstein for a companion, he even promises to live as a recluse for the rest of his life, as long as he doesn't have to be alone. But Frankenstein is so busy assuming all the evil he's up to, he never stops to listen. He only needed one person to love."

"But no-one could love him," He didn't want to damper her passionate defense of the creature, but he was too invested in the debate to back out now. He underestimated her persistency though.

"No one could stand to look at him, there's a difference," She told him, her chin sticking out defiantly, her eyes bright.

"Being able to stand the sight of the person you aspire to love is kind of a basic requirement," he deadpanned.

"Well, then the problem is that he never found a person willing to stick out her eyes to be with him," she threw right back at him.

He actually stopped in the middle of the road, floored by her reasoning. "Now that's taking it to the extreme!" he exclaimed.

"Is it?" she replied hotly. "Is condemning a man to a loveless and lonely life that much more extreme then a woman only giving up her eyesight to be with the man she loves?"

"I…." He wanted to take her in his arms and never let her go. This amazing woman with her topsy turvy view on the world and her unique capacity for love.

But of course he did nothing of the sort.  
 _'Cowardless, spineless excuse of a man_ ,' the voice mocked him. _'You're the type of monster who can't even dream of trying to inspire the kind of love she's talking about.'_

The silence stretched between them until the look of determination on her face gave way to an embarrassed smile. "Sorry, I tend to get too invested in the books I'm reading." she said apologetic, a slight blush colored her face.

"Don't be," he told her softly. "You make a very compelling argument."

She smiled incredulously at that, her eyes wide and a little confused. They continued to walk on quietly, but he no longer felt uncomfortable because of it. Glancing sideways he noticed the happy, relaxed smile around her lips and it warmed his heart, realizing he hadn't felt this at peace himself in a very long time. He also realized they were standing in front of her apartment now.

He took a breath and asked the question that had been plaguing him since Ruby made her request. "Miss French… Exactly how much is Gaston Frollo bothering you?"

Her face fell and her gaze dropped and he hated himself for breaking the beautiful spell they've been under while discussing 'Frankenstein', but he needed to know.

"He hasn't done anything, really…" she answered. "He's just been obnoxious and annoying and he makes my skin crawl."

"Has he laid his hands on you?" His voice was laced with cold rage.

"He tried to," she confessed. "Nothing too atrocious, but I'm just not interested in him that way. And he always brings his faithful entourage with him wherever he goes, so I prefer not to encounter him alone."

Gaston Frollo had something coming to him first thing tomorrow, he vowed to himself.  
He pulled out his business card from the inside of his pocket and pressed it into her hand. "If he ever bothers you again, or if you even think he is going to, contact me," he implored her. "Promise me."

She nodded hesitantly, cradling the card into her hand.

He knew he was overreacting, probably overstepping a million boundaries, but it was this or spending the night in front of her home with a loaded riffle.

"I promise," she told him quietly and he found himself drowning in the depths of her blue eyes. "And thank you for tonight. I had a lovely time."

"So did I," he breathed. She was even more captivating, more lovely in real life than he'd build her up to be in his dreams and was falling head of heels in love with her all over again.  
He didn't want to leave, but he couldn't think of anything else to say that would excuse his lingering. "Sleep well," he conceded eventually, knowing she would walk away from him soon now.

"You too…" One last smile, one last look from those enchanting eyes and then she climbed up the stairs to her apartment, and he turned around and walked away, storing every precious moment of this perfect evening away inside his memory.

Just this one night, he told himself firmly. He would cherish the memory of it forever.  
 _'Twenty minutes, more like,_ " the voice taunted him, the all familiar ache and loneliness setting in his heart again.

Tomorrow everything would have returned to normal.

* * *

 

He sat at his regular booth the next morning, groggy from tiredness, barely able to make sense of the words that were swimming in front of him. Sleep had been elusive, as he had expected and he was now holding on to his coffee as if it were his last lifeline.

Belle was sitting at the bar, chatting to Grandma Lucas who was moving around as if her joints had decided to go on a strike and seemed surprisingly unaffected. Briefly he wondered why he thought it would be otherwise.

He watched her put on her coat, before turning his attention back to the page before him, hearing her footsteps approach. The soft, tantalizing clicking of her heels stopped the moment he'd expected her to pass his booth and out of reflex more than anything he looked up, startled.

She was standing there, smiling, her chestnut curls dancing around her shoulders.

"Good morning, Mr Gold," she offered, before walking away, leaving him behind speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this story almost straight after I watched 'Skin Deep' and it took me awhile before I started watching season 2. So you can imagine my surprise when Whale turned out to be Frankenstein himself.


	4. Heaven's Light/ Hellfire

He cornered Gaston Frollo in a parking lot just outside Storybrooke's sport's bar that doubled as the home of _The Mighty Ducks_ early next morning. He was accompanied by LaFou, but nothing more than a barked command and a jerk of his head was needed to send him scurrying inside. Gripping the handle of his cane tightly, he surveyed the youngish man in front of him. Dressed in the black and red colors of his team's gear, he gave every impression of being a popular jock in the prime of his career. Upon closer inspection however, Gold could see the first age lines appearing on his face. The truth was, this almost thirty year old, wanna-be professional athlete was the poster boy for never-met aspirations.

"Mr Gold…" Gaston Frollo crossed his arms over his chest in a pompous gesture. "What can I do for you? It's not money you're after, is it? I wasn't aware that I owed you a debt."

"Oh no, dearie, this isn't about something I'm after," he replied with icy politeness. "It's about something you're after."

"And what would that be?"

If the condescending smirk on his face was intended to intimidate him, Gold thought furiously to himself that the boy was even more stupid than he thought.  
"You want Belle French." He managed to state it in a matter-of-fact tone, devoid of any trace of emotion.

Gaston Frollo chuckled as if the mention of Belle reminded him of his favorite toy. "And what if I am? Are you going to offer me a deal on how to get her?"

"Oh, I'm here to offer you a deal…" Gold replied, taking a few steps closer, his voice dangerously low, noticing to his satisfaction how the smirk was slipping from Gaston's face. "But the deal is this: you'll stay the hell away from her."

Gaston froze, his features hardening, before inflating himself again. "Sorry, not interested in that kind of deal."

"And yet I believe you are," Gold countered smoothly. "How are things at work?"

When Gaston blinked stupidly, he feigned a dawning of realization. "How silly of me… you don't have to work. Your father is providing for you, isn't he? So you can maintain your training schedule."

"Look… I don't see the point of this," Gaston snapped.

"But I do have a point and a mighty relevant one at that," Gold smirked. "What a waste of your talents it would be…" by now his voice was practically dripping with sarcasm, " …if you were to stop your training because you're forced to earn a living. Because your daddy can't pay your allowance any longer…" He paused for a bit of dramatic effect. "…because he's serving a lengthy prison sentence for corruption."

"What the hell are you…!" Gaston started, but before he could finish his sentence, Gold drew a stack of papers from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and waved it in front of him.

"Your father, Judge Frollo has been accepting bribes for years. I have people still paying off debts to me, because they needed money to get out of a sentencing. People who are willing to testify if I offer them to forgive their loans." He waited for a few seconds to let that sink in and then waved the papers again.  
"But perhaps these bank statements alone will be enough to get your father convicted."

Gaston lurched forward, snatching at the papers. "Where did you get those?" He bellowed, grasping the older man by the lapels of his suit.  
In a flash, Gold had tucked the papers away again. Remaining perfectly calm, he smiled serenely at the furious man.

"Oh, I've had these papers for a couple of years now, but I never considered it to be my business, really." Then his voice turned malicious again. "But Belle French _is_ my business. So here's the deal: you don't talk to her, you don't bother her, you don't even come _near_ her. Or else I'll make your father's corruption my business as well. Do we understand each other?"

Gaston continued to give him a shrewd look, squinting his eyes as he assessed the man in front of him. Then he snickered.

"Trying to get a leg over the bookworm, are you?" When he heard the older man's gasp, he knew he'd hit home. "Think she's mad enough to throw you a pity fuck? You might get lucky… she might be as wacky as her old man."

Gold's fist closed around Gaston's throat in an iron grip, effectively closing off his windpipe.  
"You'll. stay. away. from. her," he growled, his eyes glistering with malice. "Do we have a deal?"

For a brief moment Gaston's eyes widened it absolute terror, then gave a tiny nod, almost made impossible because of the fingers clasped tightly around his neck.

"Good!" Gold shoved the man away, the force of his push betraying all the anger he was feeling.

* * *

 

It wasn't until he was back in his car that he noticed that his hands were shaking. So much even that he couldn't immediately drive away. The cruel words resounded in his head and he felt thoroughly disgusted with himself.

 _'Fine job you did there on keeping your pathetic infatuation to yourself_ ,' the voice scoffed sarcastically. ' _Even the town's greatest imbecile is picking up on it. Imagine what the rest of them is saying about you. And what they are saying about her because of you.'_

"At least Belle is now safe from that imbecile," he said out loud.

 _'Oh yes, Belle is perfectly safe from leering perverts_ ,' the voice bit back.

* * *

 

Ever since the evening he'd escorted her home from the library, something had began to change between them. Every morning, without fail, she greeted him as she exited Granny's Diner. He refused to believe however that it meant anything more than Belle being her kind, friendly self. He could not help noticing though that he seemed to bump into her more often. And after their stimulating debate about Frankenstein it was so much harder not to give in to the temptation to engage her in conversation. The fact that he soon discovered that they could literally talk about anything didn't help either. During these coincidental meetings they discussed everything, from more literature - she had some very interesting opinions about Rochester- to town business - he was pleasantly surprised to discover that she was just as observant of the people around them as he was, only a lot kinder in her assessment of them.  
He was in love with her mind, her knowledge about practically every subject, her wide interests, her informed opinions and her passionate defense of everything she believed in.

Still, he chalked these random meetings up to happy coincidences, telling himself firmly that although she treated him on these occasions with a warm friendliness, she wouldn't spare him another thought otherwise and that this was only in his best interest. Gaston Frollo's mocking words continued to sting for a very long time after their meeting, the man's brutal honesty making him ashamed of everything he felt about her. She was lovely and beautiful and would never think about him twice. Not even to ' throw him a pity fuck' as Mr. Frollo had so delicately put it, the words soiling the enticing, hidden fantasies he'd harbored about her for so long deep inside his heart.

Even more so, because the voice inside his head never wasted an opportunity to sneer at him that if, in some kind of twisted, parallel universe she would deem it fit to 'throw him a pity fuck', he'd be absolutely helpless to resist her. He'd scamper for anything that she would throw his way, propriety and dignity be damned and probably beg for some more.

* * *

 

So when on one dreary, Tuesday morning she stopped at his booth at Granny's Diner, instead of taking her usual spot at the bar and asked him, all smiles and soft lit, if he'd minded if she joined him, he was almost shocked out of his wits. Steeling himself, he managed to keep his nerves under control and nodded with a feigned calmness. "

Thank you," she breathed, sliding down in the seat across from him. "I hoped I'd find you here, there's something I want to ask you…"

"Gaston Frollo isn't still giving you trouble, is he?" He asked sharply, immediately worried.

"Wha- no!" She spluttered for a second before giving him a reassuring smile. "Actually, I haven't seen him in a while."  
She gave a half shrug. "I figured he'd lose interest eventually. The guy has the attention-span of a bug."

It took a bit more self-control to keep his breathing even, but he nodded in grim satisfaction. "Good."

"Anyway, I was going to ask you…" she started, but was interrupted when Grandma Lucas appeared at their table.

"Good morning Belle, what can I get you?" she asked pleasantly.

"A coffee and a blueberry jam bagel please," Belle smiled back. "How are you feeling, Granny?"

"Oh, fine dear," the diner lady replied casually. "My joints still ache a bit, but it's just the weather. Nothing more serious."

Belle caught his eye from across the table, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards and he was instantly reminded of their talk a few weeks ago now. Apparently Grandma Lucas was still very much in denial about her rheumatism. Almost reflexively he grinned back. Unfortunately, this also alerted Grandma Lucas to his presence and her demeanor cooled noticeably.

"Anything for you as well?" she asked curtly.

He matched the frost in her voice with an ever icier look himself, his polite smile mocking her. "Another espresso, if you please."  
He was used to Grandma Lucas's barbs and the rudeness they came with. He had long ago accepted it as a fact of life, could to some extend even understand why she was feeling the way that she did. But now, being snapped at in front of Belle rattled him and he felt his insides burn in mortification. One way or the other, it was a disaster. Every single person in this town hated his guts. He had brought it about himself of course, first by his cowardice transgressions twenty years ago and then by voluntarily becoming the town's vampire. And as long as he kept his walls up, as long as he hid behind an impeccable suit and a studied smile, as long as he used disdain and manipulation to keep them at bay, no one would be able to hurt him. Least of all the woman sitting across from him, now wearing a small frown, looking a little bewildered from him to Grandma Lucas. When the later had stalked off he gave what he hoped came across as a nonchalant shrug.  
"We don't exactly get along…" he offered by way of explanation. "However, you were going to ask me something…"

"Yes…" Belle shook her head lightly, her mind refocussing to the matter she'd originally wanted to discuss with him. "You remember that Information Science Congress I went to last weekend?"

He remembered only too well. It had been the longest damn weekend of his life. She'd been gone for three whole days, staying over in Boston to attend the blasted event. It had made him painfully aware of how much he had gotten used to seeing her every day and how much he missed her when she wasn't there.

"And you remember us discussing a while back how horribly outdated the current library classification system is?" He could already see where this was going, but he only needed to nod to encourage her to elaborate, because whatever it was she had discovered at the congress, it had her bubbling over with excitement.

"Well, there was this presentation of a new organization and classification system for libraries, called ' _The Golden Compass_.' It's absolutely perfect, just what we were looking for…"

She was practically beaming with enthusiasm and he quickly forgot all about his ruffled feathers over Grandma Lucas's treatment, too busy enjoying her sparkling eyes.  
"What does it do?" he inquired.

"Everything!" she stated happily. "And then everything else. Apparently it's completely web-based, library members could check the collection online from their home, they can make reservations or prolong books, they can look up additional info on writers and such… And just the categorization system itself is flawless… Imagine never losing another book, because every book has it's unique digital code, look up every title or author you want by just a few clicks in the online catalog, instead of going through index card box after index card box…"

As she continued to describe her idea of library heaven he couldn't hold back a chuckle, soon echoed by hers.  
"So to sum up, I'm rather enthusiastic about it," she concluded grinning.

"Well, you did manage to pique my curiosity, Miss French," he smiled back. Which was of course the understatement of the year. For all his calculating, merchandising ways, he would buy her whatever system she required without blinking for the sole reason of it making her happy.

"Their information package got delivered yesterday, so if you're interested, swing by at the library at any time," she offered.

Deciding to park his reticence policy for the day and just take her up on her invitation he nodded thoughtfully. "I have an appointment in town at two, I could come by after that."

If possible, her smile became just that bit more radiant. "Perfect."

Just then, Grandma Lucas appeared with a tray of orders. Belle's coffee was carefully put down on the table in front of her, but unfortunately his own espresso didn't receive the same courtesy. Apparently still highly aggravated by his presence, Grandma Lucas slammed his cup and saucer down with such force that half off the scalding hot coffee splashed over the rim of his cup and over her fingers.

Startled by the burn of it, Grandma Lucas pulled back abruptly, causing Belle's bagel to slide of the tray and land in the middle of his ruined espresso, causing crumbs, jam and coffee to splatter everywhere. He managed to slide away quick enough to prevent the coffee from dripping on his pants, Belle reaching out in reflex to yank the espresso cup away from the rim of the table.

Grandma Lucas had to good grace to look flustered. "Oh goodness.. I'm so sorry…" She stammered. "I'll get you another bagel, dear… and for you another espresso of course, Mr. Gold…"

Sinking back in his seat, he closed his eyes and heaved a big sigh. When he opened them again, Grandma Lucas was gone and he found Belle staring at him with a bit of a twinkle in her eyes.

"What?" He asked non-plussed.

"Hold very still…" She told him quietly, leaning towards him, her hand inching towards his face.

"Wha-.." he tried again as she moved closer and closer towards him, but she shushed him with a smile.

"There's a big spot of blueberry jam right on your chin with every intention of falling down and ruining your lovely tie," she whispered.

And before he could wrap his mind around what was happening, her hand cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing the jam away. His skin burned where she had touched him and he found himself frozen to the spot, his heartbeat speeding up to what must be a very unhealthy rate when she pulled her hand back and licked the sweet substance of her thumb.

Then she sat back down, a look of shyness suddenly crossing her features.  
"It's all gone now…"

"Thank you…" he managed to croak hoarsely before he couldn't hold her gaze any longer. Looking down at the spilled coffee and sodden bagel on the table in front of him he wondered vaguely how his life had become such a complicated mess as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'Granny dumps a tray on poor Mr. Gold scene' is based on a season 2 blooper I saw on YouTube and I couldn't resist working it in the story.


	5. Belle Notte

As the clock slowly approached half past two, the time she could reasonably expect him, Belle felt herself fluttering with a sense of jittery anticipation. For the past few weeks Storybrooke's notorious antiques dealer had occupied most of her thoughts and quite a few of her dreams as well. The peculiar drawn she had felt towards him that day in the library when she'd all but dropped into his arms and she had successfully ignored for three years had returned full force the evening he'd walked her home from the library. She couldn't remember having such a wonderful, stimulating conversation in a long time - if ever. It had been almost magical, walking together slowly, by the soft light of the street lamps, the pavement gleaming because of the rain and just talking.   
She had always found him attractive, but as she'd strolled besides him, occasionally sneaking side-way glances at him, noticing how at ease he appeared and how he was offering her a rare insight into the man behind the impeccable suit and the power, she'd felt her heartbeat pick up in a way that had nothing to do with their discussion about Frankenstein.

In the weeks that followed she'd kept an eye out for him and had - although she was embarrassed to admit it - helped fate along a bit. Thankfully he was a creature of habit, so it hadn't been too difficult to cross his paths in a way that didn't entirely gave her away. The real challenge had been to draw him out. As she had started to greet him casually every morning at Granny's as she passed his booth, she hadn't been oblivious to his shocked expression.   
Sometimes she worried she was just being a nuisance to him. Whenever she tried to strike up a conversation with him on one of those not-so-coincidental meetings, he always appeared so apprehensive at first. On the other hand, he never rebuffed her, never tried cut her short, so in the end they always did talk. And she found her fascination with him grew with each conversation. He was intelligent, well-read and - once he got going - a wonderful debater.   
All her life Belle had loved words. Loved how they formed prose, puns and phrasings. For most of her life she had found these in books. Until she started to talk to Mr. Gold on a regular basis. He had a way with words that exhilarated her. He wasn't a man of many words, but the things he said were deliberate and very carefully chosen. She often felt he could convey more with a few chosen words than others did with a lengthy speech.  
Apart from that, he had a wonderful voice, especially with the way his accent punctuated the words. She felt that she could listen to him for hours.

Around three o' clock she put the kettle on so she could offer him a cuppa.

At four o clock she sipped her now cold, far too strong tea, trying to push away the disappointment that started in the pit of her stomach.

At a quarter past five she dejectedly logged off the computer, turned off the lights, save for a few safety lights, grabbed her coat and purse and slowly made her way to the entrance door to lock up.

He hadn't shown up.

And she was crestfallen because of it.

It wasn't until she reached the glass door that she noticed him standing on the other side, looking rather forlorn and apologetic. Unable to keep in check the wide grin that was spilling over her face, she opened the door. "You came…" "

Against all odds…" he grumbled warily. "I do apologize. My original appointment already took up more time than I'd anticipated and then I was called about another matter…"

He was about to step inside when he noticed that the building was bathing in darkness. "You've closed up…' he concluded, his face falling. "Perhaps we can re-schedule our meeting? You must be anxious to get home…"

"Nonsense," she protested, all but dragging him in. "We can still look at the brochures, I'll just flick the lights back on and…"  
Already starting to walk back inside, she was stopped by the briefest touch on her elbow. Her heart missed a beat and she turned on her heels, surprised to find him standing a little closer than she'd expected him to be, looking rather anxious.

"How about…?" He cleared his throat, visibly looking uncomfortable. "That is… we could grab a bite to eat somewhere…"

She looked at him with her eyes wide, her mind not daring to believe what he was saying.

"A working dinner of course…" He hastened to clarify himself, "If you're willing…" he trailed off, his hand gripping the cane tightly.

"I'd love to!" Realizing she'd almost cried that out, she tempered her enthusiasm quickly, as to not scare the man off. But she was just so happy he took the initiative to spend some time together for once that she could have danced. Even more so when she noticed his relieved expression.  
"Let me just get those brochures and then I'm all set to go," she told him as she walked further into the deserted library, only illuminated by the soft orange glow of the safety lights.

He followed her inside, but waited politely outside her office for her to return. The brochures were on the desk and when she returned to the main area of the library, she found him staring at a life-size card board figure of a woman with vibrant green skin, red lips and a black clothing, her black witch hat covering most of her face.

"What on earth is that?" He asked with a frown.

She giggled at the obvious distaste in his voice. "That's Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West," she informed him.

"Any particular reason she's in Storybrooke's library?" he inquired, the scowl on his face intensifying.

"It's because of Children's Book Week," she explained. "The theme is 'A Villain's Perspective.' It's about the more human, nicer side of most common fairy-tale villains. They all have backstories explaining why they've become wicked or are not quite so wicked as most people believe them to be after all, so we'll all like them a little better."

"Sure, this one looks like delightful company." He commented sarcastically.

"Well, apparently it's a big thing at the moment," she replied. "There are all sorts of books and movies in this genre being published lately. Especially older kids love them."

"And so they are denied to be plain-dealing villains," he said half tragically, half flippantly.

"Well, that may be so," she answered cheekily. "But I'm still eagerly awaiting the story of Ursula, the misunderstood octopus."

He laughed at that, a rare, full laugh that caused the lines around his eyes to crinkle and his face to soften. She loved hearing him laugh, loved what it did to his face. Most of the time he looked so serious, so guarded, either wearing a malicious expression or a smirk. But when he laughed, really laughed, he transformed. The steel in his eyes melted and he became softer somehow. More approachable. After the first time it happened because of something she said, it became a sport for her to try and get him to laugh like that at every opportunity she got. When his eyes sparkled and the lines around the corners of his eyes and lips crinkled she felt her stomach flutter. It had actually been during one of these moments that she had realized with a small jolt that as inappropriate and impossible as it was, she had fallen in love with him.

"Right you are, that would be interesting." His amusement caused his brogue to thicken and Belle felt it went straight to her knees, causing her to falter slightly. Immediately his eyes were drawn to the 8 inch, velvet heels she was wearing.

"I'll never be able to comprehend how you are able to walk around in those," he said, the obvious wonderment in his voice taking all the sting out of his words.

Belle just laughed.  
"Let's just say I enjoy defying gravity."

* * *

 

 

She expected them to walk to Granny's, which was only right across the street, but to her surprise he headed straight for his black Cadillac and opened the door to the passenger's seat for her. Curious and pleased, she slid in her seat and looked up at him.

"Where are we going?"

"Do you like Italian?" There was a hint of insecurity in his voice.

"Yes, I love it!" She beamed, completely genuine. For all she cared he could take her to a shrimp-on-a-stick stall and she'd be happy to spend time with him, but Italian food happened to be her favorite. Then she frowned.   
"Is there even an Italian place in Storybrooke?"

He smile became amused and a little enigmatic. "Just you wait and see."

They drove for about fifteen minutes until they reached a part of town she'd never been to before. The houses were shabbier than the grand Victorian Houses around Main Street, but as they exited the car she could hear the soft hustle and bustle of a living and breathing neighborhood.   
"It isn't far from here," he told her as he guided her over the pavement and soon enough they were standing in front of a small, traditional Italian place called 'Tony's Restaurant'.

The second they'd stepped into the restaurant they were greeted by a big, abundant man with an enormous, curled mustache and wavy black hair.   
"Hello Tony,' Gold greeted him pleasantly.

"Signor Gold!" he exclaimed happily "What surprise! And you have company… Luigi!" He bellowed the name over his shoulder and a second man appeared, looking very much like Tony, save for the fact that he had no mustache and could easily fit into Tony three times size-wise.  
"Luigi! Bring a menu for Signor Gold and his bella donna!"

He gestured them to a small, secluded table in the corner, covered with a checkered red and white tablecloth, candles in empty wine bottles and sparkling silverware. Belle sat down, taking in her surroundings in awe. She loved the place. It was so warm and cozy and the smells coming from the open kitchen made her stomach growl.

"I can't believe I've never heard of this restaurant," she told Gold. "Do you come here often?"

"Quite often," he confessed "I don't do much business in this part of town, so most people only know me as 'that odd, middle-aged man with the limb'. Sometimes it's easier that way."

Belle could feel her heart break a little at his words. It was ridiculous really, how much the town disliked him. Yes, he was aloof and often brusque. Yes, he was an unyielding landlord, who flat out refused to give delays when it came to payment, but then again, shouldn't people be aware of that before they signed a contract? She'd been renting apartments for years. First in Boston and later a few times in Australia as well and she'd dealt with a lot of landlords. And whatever else could be said for Mr. Gold, he certainly kept his side of the bargain up. She'd never lived in an apartment before that was so well maintained. She'd never had any kind of drama with broken heaters or leaking pipes in the three years she'd lived in Storybrooke.   
She offered him a small smile, wishing she could think of something to say that would chase the look of melancholy out of his eyes.

Just then, loud voices could be heard from the kitchen. Apparently Tony and Luigi were engaged in a rather heated debate. In fast-paced Italian.   
"Will they be all right?" Belle asked, slightly worried, as the shouting steadily increased in volume.

Gold just grinned. "Don't worry, this is their default way of communicating with each other." He listened intently for a moment and then leaned closer towards Belle. "Apparently Tony has a new lady friend and Luigi is not happy about it."

"You speak Italian?" Belle asked, deeply impressed.

He shrugged modestly. "A little."   
Then he chuckled at a particularly angry outburst from Luigi. Lowering his voice conspiringly, he translated.   
"He wants Tony to stop cavorting around and settle down and start a family and all that and…" Luigi's rant was interrupted by an indignant cry from Tony and Gold snorted with laughter. "… Tony claims he's just a stallion that needs to run free."

Belle pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter, leaning even closer towards him so he could translate the next bit for her.   
"Now Luigi is saying… oh my…" Gold managed to look a little shocked. "Let's just say he knows a lot more swear words than a devoted catholic has any business to," causing her to dissolve into giggles again.

There was an almighty clattering of pans and then Belle, who sat facing the kitchen quickly slid back in her chair. "Tony's coming our way, " she warned.

By the time the he had reached their table, they had managed to compose themselves enough to order their food.   
"Can you recommend anything?" Belle asked Gold.

"The pasta is delicious," he told her, his arms resting casually on the table, his body language more at ease and open towards her than she'd ever seen before.

They both ordered the spaghetti and went 'heavy on the meatballs' as per Tony's suggestion. After that the conversation flowed easily.   
They discussed 'The Golden Compass' for a while, but quickly moved on to other topics. Belle found herself confiding into him, telling him things about her father's hospitalization and the aftermath of it that she'd previously only shared with Granny and Ruby. Then they touched lighter subjects and she was delighted to discover his love for music and extended knowledge of a few of her favorite classical composers.

* * *

 

He insisted on driving her home and she gave in readily, eager to prolong their time together. He even walked her to the foot of the stairs that went up to her apartment and she looked into his eyes, wishing she had the nerve to ask him to come up. She had never seen him this relaxed, this open and if she'd been fascinated before by his reticent, inhibited personality, she was completely captured now that she dared to hope - if only a little - that he might be interested as well. That perhaps their friendship could grow into something much deeper.

"Thank you for a lovely evening."

She couldn't look away from his eyes. In the sparse light, provided by the street lamps and the moon his eyes looked darker than usual, but he held her gaze, his eyes burning into hers, searching, wondering.

"It was my pleasure." His voice was husky and low and he continued to stare at her, causing something warm to explode in her stomach, wrapping itself around her heart.

Belle could practically hear his mind arguing. He was always so much inside his head, so guarded. But now he was looking at her and she could see all the confusion and fear whirling around in his hooded gaze. Gathering her bravery, she took a step closer towards him so that they were almost touching and she felt a happy little flutter when she noticed his pupils dilating.

He was now staring at her mouth, his gaze becoming transfixed and she almost forgot to breath out of anticipation, her teeth nervously biting her lower lip. A small, almost inaudible hitch in his breath told her he'd noticed and he leaned down slightly, his mouth only inches from hers.

A car honked loudly nearby and immediately he was startled out of his reverie, his eyes turning wide and he took bewildered step back.

Belle felt like crying in frustration and when she looked at him she was dismayed to find that his mask was firmly back in place. "Sleep well," she offered in a small voice, her heart sinking to her shoes.

"You too, Miss French." His tone was perfectly polite, but there was a sudden standoffishness about him and he looked as on guard as ever.

Dejected she turned around and climbed the stairs, tears prickling behind her eyes.

She never saw the mask shatter as he watched her walk away, or the hand that gripped the handle of the crane, just so he would remain upright.

She never saw him mouth the word, no sound leaving his lips.

"Belle."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with he Frankenstein thing, when I wrote this chapter I had no idea who Zelena was or what she had in store for my favorite complicated character...


	6. Prologue

The Rabbit's Hole was packed. Boisterous miners, a large crowd of workmen and the town's resident alcoholics gathering on an icy Saturday night halfway through December to either toast to their happiness or to drown their sorrows. He was sitting at a tiny table at the far end of the bar, the other chair long ago being taken by an over-exubalart frat boy, half way through his bottle of Scotch.  
The fog was finally settling in, clouding his senses. Unfortunately, the memories were as vivid as they'd always been, the pain even sharper and more profound. This day was a day of remembrance. One he celebrated every year and today was it's twenty-first anniversary. Twenty-one years of shame, of guilt and of mourning. Twenty-one years since his life had crumbled and crashed around him, leaving him with nothing but ashes.

* * *

 

Getting Milah pregnant had never been his intention. He'd been only seventeen, barely out of childhood himself. But Milah had seemed that unbelievably pretty, unavailable girl in his graduation class and he had been besotted with her. When she'd agreed to go to the prom with him, he had felt like a man and ready to take on the world. He vowed to be different from his own father, to do better than him. He wouldn't be the sort of man that got his wife pregnant every year, went from one meaningless, temporarily job to another and drinking away half of his meager wages.  
But apparently he was more like him than he refused to admit. A few of his friends snuck booze to the prom and although he didn't drank a lot, he drank enough to make him a great deal more daring. Milah was the first girl he'd ever slept with and it had been an embarrassingly unrefined encounter in the backseat of his worn-out pickup truck. Still, back then he felt like his life was on the verge of starting and he was sure it was going to be a good one.

Even when, six weeks after the prom, he'd learned from Milah's incensed father that he had gotten his precious girl pregnant, he had taken it surprisingly calmly. Perhaps he hadn't planned on being a father at quite such a young age, but now that he was going to be one, he was determined to make the most of it. He immediately asked Milah to marry him and although he couldn't give her the wedding, the life or even the house she dreamed of, he'd still believed they could make it work.  
His own father had been disheartening unhelpful, but with the begrudgingly given aid of his new father-in-law he managed to secure a position at a wool factory just outside of Storybrooke.

When their son had been born, he had named him Baelfire, a small reminder to his Scottish heritage. From the first moment he had held his newborn son in his arms, he had loved his son with an intensity that sometimes frightened him. Bae became his pride and joy and he could watch his son for hours, completely transfixed by him. Because of Bae his determination to be a better, more successful man became even stronger.  
He managed to get accepted into law school, working at the wool factory during the day and studying and taking classes in the evening. It took him eight years of determination, no sleep and a lot less time spend with Bae then he would have liked, but by the end of it he could finally call himself a lawyer.

In retrospect, he realized he had neglected Milah in those years. He loved her and he had convinced himself that he wanted to do right by her, give her the life she was used to and deserved. Milah had been brought up so differently from him. Her parents had been well off and growing up she had wanted for nothing, very much unlike the state of borderline poverty he and his siblings had grown up in. With his degree he aspired to land himself a better, more profitable and most importantly a more respectable job.

But to his disappointment he quickly found out that holding a degree alone was not enough to be successful. He needed connections and he had none to boast on. In the small, narrow-minded town of Storybooke he was still 'the Gold boy' from a disputable family, who had gotten a girl pregnant while being a teenager himself and holding an insignificant blue collar job at some factory.  
His lucky break hadn't come until a year later, when a spot at Storybrooke's Fire Brigade had opened up and he had gotten the job, very much to his own surprise. Storybooke's Fire Brigade only operated on a standby basis, so he still had to keep his job at the factory, but at least it would give him the opportunity to meet and interact with more influential people in town. Being a fireman would finally give him the status and standing he craved. He remembered the spring following his appointment as fireman as a time of hope and happiness.  
Milah had been extraordinary proud of him, which did wonders for their marriage. Bae was healthy and well, growing into a strong, kind boy who spend his days playing with his many friends. He went through his training and studiously attended every meeting, eager to prove himself.

The first emergency call had come on a windy day in December, only three weeks before Christmas. The call had sounded rather routine, which was a good thing since they were a little understaffed. Apparently the De Ville's Mansion was ablaze with flames. The old, spooky Victorian house had been deserted for almost a decade and was largely overgrown with weed. As such it was a great attraction to the local kids, but for the last year or so the council had been planning to tear it down because the building was becoming a safety hazard. Apparently after tonight they didn't have to worry about that anymore.

Once they arrived at the scene the situation became more complicated when it became clear that there had been children playing on the property up until half an hour before the fire had started. Deciding not to take any risks, the commander in chief had ordered himself and Thomas O'Malley, the owner of Storybrooke's record shop inside to check the premises.

They had relatively easily and quickly managed to look through the ground floor of the building and were halfway on the steps towards the first floor when a loud crash downstairs was heard. O'Malley signaled him to continue to go upwards and search the other two floors, while he went back to check on the sound. When he arrived at the landing of the first floor by himself he realized just how dangerous the situation really was.  
The fire had started at the other end of the hall, great, dancing flames eating away the rotten, wooden panelling. The air around him was trembling and the heat enfolded him like a blanket. Plastic flower pots on the windowsill behind him were melting, the heavy drops of plastic slowly dripping down the wall.  
Forcing himself into action, he checked the rooms on the first floors, finding them all empty. Then he made his way to stairway leading up to the second floor, located just near the source of the fire. The heat there was almost unbearable, even in his protective gear. Thick, black smoke was filling the stairwell and he couldn't breath. He tried to take deep, steadying breaths, but he couldn't manage and began to hyperventilate, his head getting light and dizzy.  
He needed to go on. He needed to mount those last stairs to ensure no-one was up there. But it was a suicide mission. There was too much heat, the fire was everywhere, surrounding him, suffocating him, trying to enclose him.

He took another tentative step towards the stairs, but just then a bit of the ceiling collapsed behind him and came crashing down. In blind panic he rushed back to the other stairs, taking the steps two at the time. The fire behind him roared ablaze again, fueled by the fresh oxygen.

When he stumbled outside, he was met by the commander in chief and O'Malley. "Are both floors clear?" The first one asked urgently. "No is up there?"

For the next twenty-one years to come he kept asking himself why he'd lied then. Why he hadn't just said that the second floor was inaccessible. Instead he replied: "I checked both floors, chief. They're clear."

* * *

 

The accident happened about an hour later and it was nothing more than a stupid case of sheer, dumb luck. He was running back towards the street to attach one of the hoses to the fire plug when suddenly the ground stooped lower than he expected and he tripped. He landed with his full weight, gear included on his right ankle and he could actually hear the bone snap before a blinding, all consuming pain shot through him, causing him to howl in agony.

He was taken to Storybrooke's Hospital in one of the waiting ambulances and he had waited on a bed in the emergency room for the x-ray's to come back, nauseas from the pain and furious with himself. When Milah had run into the ER he had for a second believed that she'd come to check up on him. But then he saw her ashen face and the almost feral look in her eyes and a fist of ice had gripped around his heart, knowing that something was very, very wrong.

"Where's Bae?" she screamed, grabbing the collar of his uniform, almost pulling him off the bed. "He's gone! I can't find him anywhere. His friends are saying he was playing at the De Ville's Mansion!"

' _Bae had been there… Bae had been there…'_ the words pounded in his head, the bile rising in his throat.

Bae had been inside that house and he hadn't checked the second floor.

"I didn't see him, Milah," he rasped to his frantic wife. "I don't think he was there…"

Then everything became a blur. The x-rays came back showing that the bone of his ankle had been completely crushed and he was rushed into emergency surgery to try and salvage as much of damage as possible.  
He woke up hours later in an empty room, crying out Bae's name. The anesthetic hadn't even worn off completely when they had given him the news. Two small bodies had been found inside the ruin of the burned building. One being his son, the other being one of Bae's closest friends Morraine, the daughter of one of his co-workers at the factory.

His world crumbled around him. His Bae, his beautiful son was dead. The reason he lived, the reason he had worked so hard for the past decade was gone.

Four days later, almost numb from the pain-medication they had given him, he had attended Bae's funeral in a wheelchair. He was discharged from the hospital a few days after that and settled into a make-shift bed in the living room. The house felt alien to him. Empty and hollow because Bae wasn't there. He barely could look at Milah, unable to stand her broken look of grief.

But even worse than that were the small looks of compassion she'd given him occasionally. He couldn't bear her kindness, couldn't bear the soft murmurs of support and sympathy offered to him. It was because of him that their son was dead. If he had only gone up to that second floor, if he had only been brave, he would have been able to save them.

In the end the guilt became too much to bear and about a month after the fire, he came clean to Milah, confessing how he hadn't searched the second floor and how he had lied about it to the chief.  
Her reaction of enraged fury and disgust had been exactly what he'd expected, but it still cut deeply. He had sat motionless with his face in his hands as she had pounded on his head, shoulders and back with her fists, screaming: "You killed my son! You've murdered him with your cowardice!"

She left that same evening. The next morning he woke from an exhausting, nightmare -filled sleep by the sound of his doorbell ringing. Groggily calling whoever was at the door to come in, still unable to get up from his bed in, fear gripped his insides as he watched the sheriff entering his home, wearing a grim expression, convinced he had come to arrest him.

Instead the sheriff came to tell him that last night, upon leaving Storybooke, his wife had driven the car off the road, crashed it into a tree and had died because of the impact.

For days he hadn't moved. Hadn't eaten, hadn't cried, hadn't talked to anyone. His heart was numb, his tears spend and his emotions frayed.

Outside of his grief-stricken cocoon though, Storybooke had been buzzing with rumors about what had transpired. Before Milah had left town, she had visited her aunt, Mrs Lucas, who had recently opened up a diner. Mrs Lucas, heartbroken over the death of her favorite nephew had shared Milah's anger and resentment towards him and after Milah's tragic car accident, her feelings had grown into an open hatred. She told everyone who'd listen about what he had done and by the time he buried Milah next to their son, no-one in Storybrooke spoke a civil world to him anymore.

The rehabilitation of his ankle was a long and extremely painful process and in the end it never healed completely. The splintered bone never fully grew back together and most of the muscles surrounding it were damaged beyond repair.  
It barely registered with him. His ruined ankle was only a small aspect of the hell he was living in now. Everywhere he went the whispers followed him. But the barely veiled insults and hostile stares were nothing compared to the endless accusation going on inside his head and the never-ending shame and guilt. He tried to reach out to people, but he often felt like he was branded and followed by resentment and repulsion wherever he went.

He sorted out the legal dealings of his wife's demise himself. To his surprise Milah's life insurance company paid out a rather substantial sum of money and he discovered that her father had closed it off for her prior to their wedding. Still legally married to her at the time of her death, the money was now his.  
Of course this only fueled the town's hatred towards him. Apart from a coward, he was now also labelled a vulture.

But he was past caring. Realizing he would never be able to gain respect or even a kind word from anyone ever again, he closed off his heart. He became cold and self-contained, snarling at people before they could snide at him, insulting them before he could be affected by their words. He invested in property, managed to sell it off against a higher profit and found that he had talent for it. He bought more property, rented it out and became known for his hard and sharp treatment of his tenants. Over time he became feared and mistrusted and eventually his aggressive manners turned into an icy sort of disdain.

Twenty years later only the elder inhabitants of Storybrooke remembered the fire. To the rest of them he was just a cold man with a bottom-line instead of a heart.

* * *

 

By the time he'd drowned his bottle of Scotch, the Rabbit Hole was spinning and it took him several attempts before he managed to scramble to his feet.

Swaying dangerously, feeling as if he was walking on waves he made his way outside and stopped on the pavement, shuddering in sudden cold air. He leaned against a street lamp, his mind going blank.

* * *

 

Belle often took a walk late at night. After reading on the couch intently for an entire evening she needed to clear her head before she'd be able to sleep.

In retrospect, walking past the Rabbit Hole around midnight by herself on a Saturday night was perhaps not the smartest idea she'd ever had. Walking across the other side of the road she quickened her pace, trying to ignore the cat calls and insulting remarks yelled at her.

Just as she'd passed the bar, she threw a quick look back over her shoulder to make sure no-one was following her. That was when she saw him. She stopped dead in her tracks, turning around fully, barely aware of the fact that she was gaping with her mouth open.  
Mr. Gold, dressed as usual in an immaculate dark suit, albeit slightly ruffled now, she noticed - was leaning against a street lamp and his cane, barely able to stay on his feet.

Without a second thought, she crossed the street to where he stood, quietly rattling the car keys in his hands.

_'Oh no, you won't, Mister.'_

"Mr. Gold…" She tried tentatively. "Are you all right?"

He was looking sadder and more lost than she'd ever seen him and she had to fight the irrational impulse to wrap her arms around him. When he saw her though, his face lighted up in an unexpected way.

"H-Hello… lo… Miss F… Be… No wait… Miss Belle."

_'Oh boy.'_

He was giving her a lopsided grin and suddenly a word popped up in her head she had never associated him with before. Adorable. He looked adorable.

"Planning on getting home?" She asked, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice, gently taking the keys for him.

"Y-yeah…" He managed after a long pause.

"Come on, I'll take you," she told him, wrapping her arm around his waist to support him. To her surprise he offered no resistance, but leaned into her immediately, his own arm coming up around her shoulders. She spotted his car, parked a few hundred yards away and took off. They walked slowly. He was by no means a heavy man, but it was a little difficult to navigate him over the pavement, trying to spare his bad ankle as much as she could. She figured he'd be sore enough in the morning. He was quiet for most of the walk, but she could feel him shiver against her occasionally.

When they finally reached his car, she settled him into the passenger's seat, took a deep breath and sat down behind the wheel.  
"Just a heads up," she informed him. "I've never driven a Cadillac before."

He was slumped back in the chair, his head against the headrest of the seat, simply watching her with wide eyes.  
"You can do everything you want, Belle" his voice was soft, his eyes never leaving her face.

Her heart skipped a beat at the way he said her name, his brogue wrapping itself around it. Still, she giggled at his words. "Now that's just the alcohol talking."

She started the engine, pleased by how smooth it went and carefully turned onto the road. Once she felt a bit more in control of the vehicle, she glanced sideways, finding him still looking at her, although his face was becoming drowsy.  
"Don't you fall asleep on me," she admonished him lightly.

"N-not… a chance… too.. good company…"

He was having difficulty articulating his words, but he sounded endearingly sincere. She knew he had a softer side to him, had been privileged to see it on a few occasions, but she found this alcohol-induced lowering of his inhibitions enchanting.

"We're here," she told him a while later, parking the car in front of the antique shop. Rounding the car, she helped him to get out, ignoring the shiver that ran down her spine as he wrapped his arm around her instantly again for support. After locking the car, she pulled him towards the door and looked at him expectedly.

"The keys," she clarified, when he just gazed at her.

Instead, he raised his hand and gently cupped the side of her face, his fingers brushing against a strand of her hair, falling besides her face. His eyes were warm and soft and burning intensely into hers.  
"You are so beautiful."

His tone was completely serious and filled with wonder. Had he not been as drunk as a skunk, she'd have melted into a happy little puddle right there and then. Now at least one of them needed to keep their head clear. Still, Belle felt the blush creeping over her cheeks as she placed her hands on his chest, her voice warm and teasing. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Gold. I need your key to get you inside."

He laughed at that, his hands clumsily feeling his pockets before he manage to produce as small, silvery key.

"Thank you." She kept her tone deliberately light. "Well, as lovely as you are being right now, I think it's for the best if you get some sleep soon."

She led him through the shop, around the counter into his workspace behind the shop and opened a random door, relieved to find it let upstairs to where she assumed his apartment was.

He followed her docilely and she took him upstairs to his living room. When she turned around to face him again, she noticed with a little pang that he looked exhausted and that the sad look had returned to his face. He sank down on the couch, his cane clattering to the floor, barely able to move more. Making a quick decision, Belle knelt down in front of him to untie his shoes.  
"It's not ideal," she told him by way of explanation, but I think you'll be comfortable here."

She took off his shoes, pushed the suit jacket from his shoulders and undid his tie.

Then she looked around for a bit. Never been his home before, she tried not to stare too much, but couldn't help notice. There was an impressive bookcase in the corner that begged to be roamed through. There were various interesting looking knick knacks and an enormous fireplace.  
Trying not to linger on images of the two of them lying wrapped in each other's arms in front of a crackling fire, she sighed in relief when she found a chestnut trunk filled with blankets and a few spare cushions.  
Returning to the couch, she urged him to lie down and carefully placed the pillow underneath his head. Then she covered him with a blanket, making sure he was completely tucked in. He was letting her fuss over him, his eyes never leaving her face, tracking her every movement.

When she was sure he was comfortable and started to rise again, he stopped her with his hand around her wrist. He was looking at her with such a peculiar look, mixed between hurt and longing that she felt like crying.  
"This…'s all I ever wanted…" he lisped, barely awake. "Someone home… someone loving… to love…"

Reaching out, she stroked the soft lock of hair falling over his forehead.  
"You have no idea," she whispered. "Sweet dreams…"

Wiping her face with the back of her hand, her cheeks feeling suddenly damp, she made her way to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. Then she rummaged around in her purse until she found a strip of aspirin, making herself no illusions about the state he would be in next morning.

Placing both items on the coffee table, she took one last glance at his sleeping face and quietly making her way downstairs, she locked the door of the shop behind her, shoving the key into the mailbox. She walked home, a deep heat settling in her stomach, warming her from the inside out. If all he wanted was someone that loved him, she was going to make damn sure he got what he wanted.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention I like to write backstories?


	7. And He Shall Smite The Wicked

His head hurt. Everything hurt. The bright light was hurting his eyes, even though he still kept them tightly shut. His head was pounding so hard he could actually feel the veins throbbing. His throat felt dry and raw and there was a disgusting taste in his mouth. His body ached, jolts of pain were shooting through his ankle and his stomach was turning around inside his body.   
Tentatively he opened his eyes, groggily taking in his surroundings. How did he end up on the couch of his living room? With a pillow underneath his head and a blanket covering him?   
Slowly he sat up, groaning as his head was apparently in the process of splitting open from the inside out. What the hell had happened?

Then he remembered. The Rabbit Hole. The anniversary of Bae's death. The Scotch. The _entire_ bottle of Scotch. For god's sake, he normally didn't indulge himself in that much of a pity party. How on earth had he gotten home and tucked in on the couch as well? He squinted his eyes, wrecking his brain, when suddenly a memory stood out clear in his head.

Belle.   
Taking his car keys away.

"FUCK!"

The cry reverberated through his addled brain and he felt the bile rising in his throat, his stomach clenching and churning painfully. He got to his feet, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ankle and all but ran to the toilet in the hallway, arriving just in time to empty his stomachs' contents there. It went on and on, until he was finally spent and empty and even then it continued on, as if his body was trying to eject all the vileness and viciousness from his body.

Finally he staggered back towards the kitchen, shaking and stumbling, cold sweat dripping from his forehead. With trembling hands he managed to pour himself a glass of water and he drank slowly, the water suddenly sweet after the bitter taste in his mouth. Then he drenched a cloth and ran it over his face, willing his shaking of his body to stop. Exhausted by the effort of these small tasks, he leaned back against the counter, running his hands over his face as more memories of the previous night began to flood back to him.

Belle had been there and had taken the car keys aways from him. She had led him to his car and suddenly he could see them in his mind's eye, him leaning all over her, clinging to her like some pathetic drunkard, while she tried to drag him along. She had driven the car and helped him upstairs. It must have been her who made him comfortable with a pillow and a blanket.   
He looked down and on himself and noticed his state of undress. His shoes were gone, as were his suit jacket and tie. She must even have loosened the top buttons of his shirt. Why had she done all that? Why hadn't she just shoved him into the shop and let him rot on the floor?

Because Belle was good and kind. Because she'd taken pity on an old monster. On a sad, pitiful drunk.

Aching all over, his stomach wane and hurting from the coldness of the water, he slowly made his way back to the living room and sank down on the couch. It was only then he noticed the glass of water and the strip of aspirins. Carefully he stretched out his hand towards them, but then abruptly pulled back his fingers.   
Still, a hint of smile ghosted around his lips. His beautiful Belle… so thoughtful and considerate…

Then the smile froze on his face and his eyes widened in shock as the final memory clicked into place.

He had called her beautiful.

He had touched her face, invaded her personal space and had made a display of himself, being the pathetic, predatory leech that he was.

Another wave of nausea overtook him and hurried back to the toilet, moaning in agony as he started to retch once again, while there was barely anything left in his stomach to come out.   
When he made it back into the living room at last, his insides were burning and he felt completely wrung out. Seeing the glass of water still standing at the coffee table, he was suddenly gripped by a wave of fury. He grabbed the glass and hauled it at the doorpost where it crashed against the wall and splintered into a thousand pieces. Then he fell back on the couch closing his eyes against the blinding light and the bitter consequences of his transgressions.

He had lost her. Had lost her friendship, had lost any regard she'd had felt for him previously. She must loath him now, the unrestrained, boorish blackguard who turned to a bottle for his relief and compromised a sweet-tempered woman who was only trying to help him.   
The only woman who'd ever shown him any kindness.

He had been a fool. He had gotten caught up in her smiles and her eyes and had deluded himself into thinking that there could ever be more. That she would come to care from him, love him and wanted to be with him.

But it ended here, he vowed to himself. He would no longer impose on her or her time. She'd be better off at any rate, no longer tainted by association from being seen with the town's fiend.

* * *

 

She hadn't expected to see him on Sunday, realizing his massive hang-over would probably keep him occupied all day.

But when he wasn't at his usual booth at Granny's on Monday morning she got worried. She spent all morning agonizing whether or not it would have been better if she'd checked up on him the day before - he had been in quite a state after all - and by the time it was noon, she closed the library for a quick lunch break.   
Luckily the antiques shop wasn't far from the library and she hurried along the street. The shop was as dark as ever, but the little sign on the door indicated it was open and she rushed inside.   
To her immense relief she found him standing behind the counter, the second she stepped inside. Making her way in, she scanned his face and posture, noticing he looked rather pale and gaunt, but very much up and about.

"There you are," she breathed, finally relaxing fully. "How are you feeling?"

She was in front of the counter now, a little surprised he still wasn't looking at her. When he finally did though, she was taken aback by the steel look in his eyes, as if all the warmth had left them.

"Good morning, Miss French,"

Up until then he'd never called her differently, save from his alcohol-induced episode, but somehow the address now sounded like a deliberate attempt to put her in her place.

"Hello…" She was vexed to hear her voice wobbling, but gave him a tentative smile nevertheless. "You weren't at Granny's this morning… I was worried."

"Well, as you can see, Miss French, that was completely unnecessary. I'm as fit as a fiddle."

She eyed him critically, thinking to herself that that was probably overstating matters. There were dark circles underneath his tired, bloodshot eyes and his shoulders were slumped. She decided to humor him though.   
"I'm glad to hear it," she answered cheerfully. "I hope you didn't feel too rotten yesterday?"

To her utter shock, he snapped at her.

"Miss French, is there a point to you visit today?"

"I… I just wanted to see if you're all right…" she stammered, completely taken aback by the tone of his voice.

"I'm perfectly fine, as I've stated before." His voice was sharp like a razor. "If there's nothing else I kindly ask you to let me return to my work, as I'm sure you have something more productive to do as well."

Determined not to be brushed aside like that and feeling her temper rising, Belle pressed on.   
"What's the matter? Is this about the other night? Have I upset you somehow?"

It had occurred to her that he might feel embarrassed about what had happened, but she'd never expected him to retreat so vehemently.

"I'm grateful for your assistance, Miss French," his voice couldn't have sounded more condescending if it tried. "But I fear that lately our relations have become overly familiar and thus highly unsuitable."

"Unsuitable?" she repeated incredulously. "I was under the impression that we were friends."

"Miss French, we shared a work-related dinner." His tone was harsh and cold as ice. "Please don't turn it into anything more than that. I have neither the time nor the inclination for anything else."

Hearing him belittle all the moments they had shared in the last few weeks, brushing them off as mere inappropriate, bothersome encounters broke something inside her. For all her put-up bravery she'd been terrified all along that he would eventually grow tired of her. That at the end of the day he'd see her like everyone else did. The bookworm who might or not might have a lunatic strike about her, just like her old man did. She had grasped onto every straw, every indication that he might like her, that he might have been developing stronger feelings for her. But as it turned out, she had been fooling herself. He wouldn't spare her a second thought. She was just being a nuisance to him. And what was even worse, she'd been wrong about him as well.

He was every bit as mean and calculating as everyone in town had warned her he was.

Shrinking back from the counter, from him, she couldn't stop the words that tumbled from her mouth, before she ran.   
"You are not who I thought you were."

* * *

 

It should have gotten better over time. The piercing ache he'd felt the day she'd walked out of his antiques shop should have soothed after many weeks of careful reasoning that he had done the sensible and ultimately kindest thing he could have done.   
He shouldn't be missing her anymore, after weeks of studiously avoiding her at all costs, going as far as to abruptly change his route, the moment the thought he saw a colored-clad figure appearing into his range of vision.   
The dreams should have stopped, now that he had firmly put a stop to all his foolish fantasies and longings and had accepted the stark reality: Belle French wouldn't come near him of her own accord ever again.   
He should be content by now. His business was thriving, he was respected, if not feared in town and he was surrounded by all the comforts of life.

The truth was that he was utterly and wholly miserable.

He had relived the encounter in his shop countless times. And each time the recollection of it caused him to burn with shame. As much as he tried to convince himself that he had acted in her best interest and that she couldn't possibly care more about him than she would about any other random acquaintance, the nagging voice inside his head kept telling him that he was just an enormous coward and a cruel liar on top of that.   
Because even if there was no doubt in his mind that she didn't love him, at least not in the way that he loved her, not in the way he yearned for her and longed to have her close, he could no longer deny, even to himself that she had cared.   
For some inexplicable reason, this wonderful warm, kind and beautiful woman had cared about him, had even called him a friend. And she had deserved so much more than his cruel words, his inebriated ramblings and his foolish fantasies.

He hadn't seen her for weeks and he missed her every second of every day. At first he had actively tried to avoid her. He stopped going to Granny's in the morning, made sure he didn't cross her path during the day and even had gone as far as sending her a curt, all businesslike request, asking her to transfer her rent directly to his bank account, sparing him the monthly trip to the library.   
After a while he began to notice that he didn't have to work so hard anymore to avoid her, because she was dodging him with equal diligence. And even though he had no right whatsoever to feel like that, even though he had completely brought it onto himself, he was heartbroken because of it.

His dreams only intensified in the cold of her absence, alternating between hot, feverish dreams, from which he woke panting and scorching, drenched in sweat and deep, hazy dreams where she loved him, cared for him and belonged to him and he never had to fear she'd leave him again. Dreams that left him with a heart that clenched with homesickness for her when he awoke.   
If he was so lucky as to fall asleep at all. insomnia had been his constant companion for weeks now.

She might have been the best thing that had ever happened to him and he had ruined it.

* * *

 

Thursday evening was the only evening he trusted to eat at Granny's, because it was the evening she worked late at the library. At his usual booth, he half-heartily spooned away some lasagna, the food holding little appeal to him. The jukebox was playing some god-awful tune, the place was buzzing with chatter and noise and he wanted to just go home, crawl into his bed and get a few hours of relief.   
January had been rainy and all together unpleasant, February brought a change in the weather. Suddenly the frost had set in, turning the days bleak and the wind cutting. He felt the cold seeping into his bones as he left Granny's, leaving a bank-note next to his half-eaten lasagna.   
He drove home past the library, not able to resist the urge to lower speed and crane his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of her through the window. Of course he didn't manage to see anything and he cursed himself as he drove on.

He noticed something was wrong the second he'd parked his car in front of the antique shop. There was a gaping hole in the glass of the door for starters.   
He hurried out of the car, swearing under his breath, only noticing as he came closer that the door was slightly ajar. Gripping his cane tightly, he pushed the door open and switched on the light. Immediately the shop bathed in light and as he surveyed the wreckage, he felt like he had suddenly been punched in the gut.

Half of his inventory was scattered on the floor, most of it reduced to pieces. Then a horrible suspicion started to form in his mind and he dashed behind the counter, through the door to his office. Upon first glance the room was untouched, but he had only eyes for the file cabinet in the corner. He yanked open the first drawer and rummaged through the assorted files. Finally locating the file folder he was looking for, he pulled it out and opened it.   
As he'd suspected, it was empty and he fought down a wave of panic as gravity of it began to sink in.

Then he was alerted to the sound of police sirens outside and he realized that somehow the sheriff must have been notified. Quickly pushing the folder back, he shut the drawer and limbed back into the shop, just in time to watch Sheriff Swan enter.

"We got a notification from your alarm-system," she told him, before looking around. "They've certainly managed to trash up the place. Did you notice anything missing?"

"How should I know, I just got in!" he snapped, his mind working over-time, trying to determine what he should tell the sheriff and what to conceal.

"You just came out of your office - or what I presume is your office," Emma Swan shot back.

He took a deep breath to calm himself.   
"I came home not five minutes ago," he explained, forcing himself to keep his voice even. "When I noticed the wreckage I went straight to my office, because that's where I keep my safe. I wanted to see if it was still there."

"And was it?" the sheriff asked.

"It was," he confirmed, "and it was untouched." His eyes swept through the shop, mentally taking inventory of the damage and looking for missing items. "Also, nothing seems to be gone from the shop on first glance."

"You are sure nothing has been taken?" Emma Swan asked again, giving him a searching glare.

He doubted for a split second before nodding. "Quite sure. Nothing appears to be missing."

"Perhaps it was an act of vandalism instead of robbery," the sheriff wondered out loud.

"It's possible," he agreed. "If vandalism was the intent of who ever did this, they've managed to succeed spectacularly. They've smashed up some very valuable pieces."

His distress took him by surprise. For the past twenty years he had convinced himself that there was nothing in this world anymore that truly mattered to him. In the end everything was disposable. What didn't have his heart, couldn't hurt him. Seeing his shop, his sanctuary, trashed and ruined caused a painful stab to his heart and he realized with a start that despite everything, the shop had given him a semblance of happiness all these years.

"Do you have any idea who's responsible for this?" Emma Swan asked straightforwardly.

Again he weighted his options before deciding on a course of action.   
"Gaston Frollo," he bit out, white-hot anger surging through him at the taste of his name.

"And why would he do this to you?" Sheriff Swan had the uncanny ability to make him feel like he was being interrogated while it was his shop that was smashed to pieces.

"We had a… difference of opinion about three months ago," he replied.

"A difference of opinion?" the Sheriff asked, her eyebrows raised. "I'm afraid you're going to have elaborate on that, Mr. Gold."

"He interfered with something that I considered to be my business," his tone was measured and his gaze fixed on the sheriff's face. "He may not have been aware that he had, but I did set him straight."

"You set him straight?" Emma Swan repeated, never once breaking eye-contact. "And how did that go?"

"I made it clear in no uncertain terms that I wouldn't tolerate any more interference from him."   
Technically, he wasn't lying. Technically, he told it exactly like it was.   
But hell would freeze over before he would mention Belle or drag her in any way into this fiasco.

"But this was three months ago," Sheriff Swan asked frowning. "Why would he come after you now?"

"Isn't that your job to find out?" he inquired coolly.

Emma Swan gave a brisk nod.   
"Very well, I'll talk to Gaston Frollo first thing tomorrow. In the meantime, I don't want you to touch or change anything around her, this is now a crime scene. My deputy and I will be over tomorrow to gather evidence."

He nodded impassively, his mind on the empty file case in his office. 

"I'm afraid you'll have to close your shop for a few days, Mr. Gold," the Sheriff said apologetic.

"No matter, any chance of profit for this month is gone anyway," he replied sourly.

The second the sheriff had left, he returned to his office, once again opening the file cabinet and pulling out the file case. It was still empty and the panic he'd experienced earlier settled back in full force.

He had been truthful when he'd voiced his suspicion of Gaston Frollo to the Sheriff. The now empty folder used to contain the bank statements, proving Judge Claude Frollo's corruption. The one trump card he had owned to protect Belle from the advances of that over-indulged narcissist and he had ruined it.

He cursed himself for his stupidity, for his ignorance in thinking that the papers had been safe in his office, that no-one would dare to enter his den. There was a streak of viciousness he recognized in Gaston Frollo and he knew exactly what his father was capable of.   
He had attempted to keep Belle safe, but had in all likeliness only managed to put her at risk to a far greater danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the angst, but Gold was never going to make things easy for himself...   
> Also, for the purpose of this story, I re-assigned some duties: Emma is the sheriff in this and Graham the deputy.


	8. The Wolf Attack

The destruction of his shop and the stolen files had brought on one thing: he finally snapped out of the apathetic state of despair that had been numbing him since the day he had driven Belle out of his shop. He was on edge now, vigilantly waiting for Gaston to make his next move. As he had expected, the useless investigation of Sheriff Swan had lead to a dead end. Gaston Frollo had a fool-proof alibi, perfectly covering his whereabouts on the evening his shop had been vandalized.

An alibi - he dared to bet all his earthly possessions on - that was entirely fake.

The conducted search of evidence had come up empty as well. The culprit had smashed in the window of the door, climbed through the hole, conked out the alarm-system to put an end to the noise, had rushed into his office, retrieved the files and had trashed the shop on his way out. All in all, it couldn't have taken more then ten minutes. The culprit must have known that it would take the Sheriff fifteen minutes to get to the shop when the notification of the alarm-system came through at the station.   
If only he himself had come home a few minutes earlier, he might have caught him red-handed.

After weeks of avoiding her, he found himself looking for ways to cross Belle's path again, at least for a few times a day, just to make sure she was safe and sound. He fell back into his routine of taking his morning coffee at Granny's, only instead of sitting down at his usual booth and staring at her, he ordered a coffee-to-go at the bar, making sure he stayed as far away from her as possible and never once glanced her way.   
He adjusted his routes through town to ensure he was passing the library right around the time she was closing up, or drove through her street at night to check if the lights in her apartment were on.

It was exhausting and nerve-wrecking and the constant strain was starting to wear him down, but he was determined to see it through. No harm would come to her, he wouldn't fail her in that account.

* * *

 

It was about a week after his shop had been trashed. The broken window in the door had been replaced by a cardboard plank and he had put up a notice saying that she shop was closed until the end of the month. For the past few days he had carefully sorted through the debris, trying to determine which items could be restored and which were lost for good. Around ten o'clock he was disturbed by an incoming call on his cellphone and he answered the device with a bark:"Gold's."

"Sheriff Swan here," the caller replied hurriedly. "Gold, do you know if Miss French had any plans of leaving town today?"

His heart stopped beating for a moment, a chilling feeling of dread seeping through his veins, filling every cell of his body.   
"She's not at the library?" he asked, his voice rough.

"She didn't open up this morning and nobody has seen her since last night," Sheriff Swan replied. "She could of course just be…" "Where are you?" he interrupted her unceremoniously, already shrugging into his overcoat and rushing into his office to retrieve a few items.

"At Granny's…." Emma replied, slightly taken aback.

"Stay put," he ordered. "I'll be there in five minutes."

A thousands thoughts and scenarios were reeling through his head during the four minutes it took him to drive to Granny's and at the same time a grim sort of calm settled over him, enabling him to focus and to keep his emotions at bay. Fearing the events had been the worst of it, now he could finally grasp some semblance of control. He found Granny's Diner deserted, save from the Sheriff, Mrs. Lucas and Ruby, all three of them looking rather surprised at his sudden involvement.

"Have you checked her apartment yet?" he asked, without bothering to greet them.

"I went by after breakfast rush, when she didn't pick up the phone," Ruby replied. "Everything was dark… I wasn't sure if she'd gone out after all… but then the library didn't open en nobody knows where she is, or can reach her…"

"She could simply have overslept," Granny tried to reason calmly. "Or she's taken ill… she could have been up all night and be sleeping now…"

"Well, I'm going back to her place now and force entry if need be," Emma decided. "If she is ill, she might be in need of help."

"I'll come with you." He didn't question, just divulged it as a fact.

Once again, the Sheriff's eyebrows shot up to her hairline.   
"Why on earth should I take you, Gold?"

The smirk he gave her in reply was harsh and devoid of any humor.   
"Because dearie…" He groped inside the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small, silvery object. "…I hold the key."

With an aggravated roll of her eyes, Emma stalked out of the diner.   
"Fine. I'll drive."

* * *

 

The moment the door opened, they were greeted by frantic meowing and a ball of white fluff attacking their legs with insisted head rubs.

"What the hell?" Emma muttered. "What's wrong with that animal?"

Gold crouched down with difficulty, stroking the cat's snow-white fur, causing it to purr noisily between loud cries.   
"She's hungry…" he said softly, the dots connecting in his mind. "Belle must have been gone since yesterday morning…"   
He registered the surprise on the Sheriff's face as he stood up and realized his slip-up.

"Right, I"ll check the bedroom," Emma announced. "Wait here."

Trying to pull himself together and with a cat now clawing at his trousers, he made his way to the kitchen and randomly opened the kitchen cabinet below the sink. To his relief he found cans of cat food neatly stacked up there. Looking around he spotted a saucer and put the contents of a can on it. The cat was now practically wailing and he gave it a brief pet as he put the saucer down.   
"Here you are, Duchess."

Belle had talked about her cat of course, back when they were still speaking to each other. He had always wondered what her home looked like, how it would feel to be in a place that was all Belle and filled with her personal touches. He only never envisioned this kind of circumstances.

"You seem rather familiar around here…" Emma observed, leaning against the doorframe, startling him out of his thoughts.

"I've never been here before," he replied quietly. "At least not after she moved in."

"The bedroom is undisturbed," Emma told him. "It looks like she hasn't been home tonight."

He looked around her into the hallway.   
"Her coat is missing too," he noticed, eyeing the coatrack.

A grim look of realization passed between the both of them, all animosity between them momentarily forgotten.   
"All right," Emma said, suddenly sounding vigorous. "We need to get to the station to get her description out. I'll ask Graham to see to it straight away. Will you call Granny and Ruby and ask them to come to the station as well?"

The ride to the station was quiet, Emma being fully concentrated on her driving. He made a quick call to the diner and fiddled nervously in his seat for the rest of the ride, going over various options and scenarios in his mind, the sick, twisting feeling of fear increasing with each passing minute.

* * *

 

Ruby and Granny were already there when they entered the Sheriff's station, as was Graham Humbert, the deputy sheriff. Gathering around Emma's desk, the sheriff asked the most obvious question.   
"Who wants to hurt Belle French?"

To his surprise, both he and Ruby answered simultaneously. "Gaston Frollo."

Emma's eyes shot back and fro between the two of them. "Again Gaston Frollo. What does he have against Belle?"

"He's been trying to get her to go out with him for ages," Ruby answered. "She's not interested in him and has told him that many times, but he keeps pestering her. It got so bad I even asked Mr. Gold once to walk her home. He stopped for a bit a while ago, but for the last couple of weeks or so it has gotten much worse again. The creep is stalking her now, constantly following her, grabbing her, trying to persuade her to go with him somewhere. I think she was even starting to get afraid of him lately."

Filled with rage, he jumped up from his chair and started to pace the room. "Why hasn't she told me about this?" he demanded furiously.

"Because lately you haven't exactly been on speaking terms perhaps?" Ruby asked sarcastically, her dark eyes shooting daggers at him.

He froze at that, realizing immediately how right she was and how just her accusation, the all-familiar guilt starting to gawk at him a fresh. If only he hadn't driven her away she would have told him. And he could've helped her, could have kept her safe.

"Why would Belle tell you about her troubles with Gaston?" Emma asked him sharply. "Come to think of that, you also thought it was Gaston that vandalized your shop. Care to explain that, Mr. Gold?"

He slumped back in his chair, realizing the truth was his only option now. "Belle told me about Gaston bothering her a few months ago," he started, his heart sinking at the look of surprise, bordering on horror at Granny' face. Apparently the very notion that he had once been on friendly terms with Belle was appalling to others.   
"The next day I went to confront Gaston about it…" his face twisted at the unpleasant memory. "I told him to stay away from her, or else I would reveal some interesting facts about his dear father, the honorable Judge Frollo. And how easily it is to _purchase_ justice from him, as long as you pay him the right price."

"Everybody in Storybooke knows that!" Grandma Lucas exclaimed. "That's why nobody pays for their parking tickets. How would he have been impressed by a threat like that?"

"Because I actually had the evidence to back those accusation up!" He growled back. "Made public, the proof I had would have ensured that Claude Frollo would end up behind bars for a very long time. Because people here have been buying off more than just parking tickets. Gaston realized I wasn't bluffing and he used the one brain cell he has to decide to heed my warning. He left Belle alone after that. Until last week when he broke into my shop and stole the bank statements that would incriminate his father from my office. And now, with the threat gone, he has probably taken Belle."

Those last words were a barely audible whisper. "This is all my doing."

"You should have stayed away from her!" Granny' voice was hard and accusing. "You had no business interfering with her life."

"I was trying to keep her safe." His reasoning sounded pathetic, even to himself. "I wanted to protect her."

"Yes, and we all know how adept you are at that," the elder woman sneered. "The last two people you tried to keep safe are on the graveyard now."

Her words hurt him like a stab would and his insides twisted painfully. He took a shuddering breath, trying with all his might to resist the urge to smash the sheriff's station to pieces, never noticing the shocked looks around him.   
Then he turned towards Granny Lucas. "You don't think I know that?" His voice was laced with a pain and remorse he was unable to hide in that moment. "You think even a day goes by when I don't think about them… my son… my wife…?"

A heavy, stifling silence fell over the room and in the silence the harshness and brutality of the words spoken moments before reverberated. Granny Lucas looked slightly taken aback, fiddling with her glasses as she tried to gather her thoughts.

"She never should have come back here…" she finally muttered under her breath, shaking her head. "I should have made her stay away from Storybooke…I warned her to stay away…"

_"Excuse me_!" Emma banged her fist on her desk, furiously looking around the small group of people. "Has any of you, at any point, ever considered informing the sheriff about this?" Her voice turned cynical. "Belle French has been stalked and harassed, is now probably abducted by some deranged, obsessive lover and all you people do…" here she looked pointedly at Gold, "is flying of the handle like a bunch of pirates and trying to solve things outside the law."  
A ringing silence fell over the room after the sheriff's outburst, leaving Ruby looking slightly abashed, Gold scowling and Granny turning pensive. 

"Storybrooke has a lot of stories you're unaware of, Sheriff," she eventually said quietly. "And the Frollo versus French feud is one of them. Gaston isn't some deranged lover, it's much more layered than that."

"How?" Emma asked simply.

"For that, you must first understand Maurice's illness," Grandma Lucas started. "It wasn't long after he moved into Storybooke before the gossip started. He and his daughter were new, so that's always something to talk about, but there was something the matter with him… something that got tongues waging. Mind you, I thought I noticed something too on the few times I visited his flower shop… something in his eyes wasn't quite right. But for the first two years or so, everything went then Maurice started to change… he became unpredictable. You never knew, coming into his shop if he was going to act like your best friend, of bit your head off… There was no telling.

Belle must have her hands full, she was only a teenager herself and she was practically running the shop single-handedly because Moe became more and more unreliable. Nobody tried to help her… nobody reached out to her then and I didn't either. We all saw them still as outsiders… I regret that now."

It turned very quiet when Granny started her tale, and despite of himself and his mounting fears, Gold was hanging on every word. He remembered Belle's father of course, but he had hardly ever met the man during the years he lived in Storybooke.

"On the other hand there was the Frollo family. Prominent, rich… and living in Storybooke for generations. Mortimer Frollo was a surgeon, one of the best of his time. His son Claude a newly appointed judge, eager to climb the status ladder. Quite the distinguished family.   
But then Moe lost his marbles one evening and marched into town, dressed in his pajama's, carrying a flaming torch and a baseball bat, sprouting nonsense about monsters on the loose at the top his voice, waking up half the town. Several people tried to calm him, but he just lashed out at them. One of them was Mortimer Frollo. Moe's bat hit his shoulder pretty hard and he had to be taken to hospital and Moe got arrested.

Moe was evaluated by a shrink, who diagnosed him to be in the early stages of Alzheimer. He should have been released within days because he clearly could not be held accountable for his actions and he had an otherwise clean criminal record.

I heard this from the shrink who had examined him… like many people they like to talk when they're at the bar in my diner, eating a late dinner.

However, the repercussions of the blow Moe had dealt to Mortimer Frollo turned out to be much more severe. His injured shoulder became inflamed and the end of it was that he never fully regained the use of his right arm, effectively ending his career as a surgeon. Claude was furious because of this. Instead of a trial, were Moe would have been discharged or gotten away with a probation, he arranged for Moe to be admitted to a closed ward. Once he was in there, they just threw away the key and let him rot there.

Belle tried to get him moved, but Claude kept refusing to grant permission and about two years later, Moe died.

But Claude Frollo's revenge didn't end there. It wasn't enough for him to destroy Moe, he wanted to do the same to his daughter. He had connections to some institution in Boston where they put away troubled girls, who are involved in drug abuse, violence, soliciting… those kind of things… He tried to get her locked up there by building up a record proving she was unstable and dangerous, just like her father. He almost managed it… but I convinced the mayor to appoint me as her guardian until she was of age.

But since Judge Frollo wasn't too subtle in his inquiries, stories about Belle started to spread soon and even now some people still wonder, saying there's something funny and perculiar about her. Belle only stayed in Storybook for about eight months after Moe's incarnation. After everything that had happened to her father, she was eager to leave. She went of to college and then to Australia and I thought she was free of this place, free of the clutches of Claude Frollo.

But then she came back… why a young, smart girl would bury herself in a hell hole like this I'll never know and I've feared for her safety every day since she came back. If Gaston Frollo has her, it's because his father is behind it and he is going to stop at nothing." Granny fell silent, her eyes moist and the lines on her face suddenly deeper.

"You never said anything…" Ruby said quietly. "Not even when I asked Belle to come to Storybooke to meet up or told her about the job at the library opening up… you never told her anything of it, did you?"

Grandma Lucas shook her head. "What was the point? She had already been through enough and she was supposed to leave. It would have been better had she never came back."

Part of Gold wanted to agree whole-heartily with her statement. If she hadn't come back, she would have build a life for herself somewhere were she would be happy and safe. Another town or city perhaps, another library. Another place where she could blossom and strive. A place were deserving young men would fight for her attention.   
Instead she got tangled up in a years-old vendetta, being preyed upon by a corrupt, vengeful judge, harassed by a pawing, narcissistic idiot and pursued by the town's monster.

But another, much stronger part of him couldn't bear the thought of never having met her. For all that had happened between them, for all of his foolishness and cruelty, for all the misery and heartbreak he had endured over the last two months, just knowing her had made his lonely life a little brighter.

His brave, strong Belle, who had endured so much and was still nothing but kindness and warmth. And who was now suffering at the hands of a manipulative bastard who could have taken her to God knows where…

And then the penny dropped and he gasped with the realization of it. "I think I know where Belle might be…" he was at his feet instantly, unable to keep still a moment longer.

"Where?" Emma asked, looking up sharply.

"There's a small wooden cabin about eleven miles north from Toll Bridge," he explained quickly. "It's remote and secluded, few people even know it's there. I rented it out to Claude Frollo about eighteen years ago."

"What does he need a place like that for?" Granny asked bewildered.

"Well…" Gold smiled benignly in reply. "Let's put it this way: Claude Frollo has many different types of trysts and he needed a place far removed from the town to clench them."

He paused for a moment to let that sink in and Emma shuddered in disgust.   
"Good god… and you actually rented that sick pervert some of your property?"

"Rest assured Sheriff that I added a special stipulation in his contract, determining he is only allowed to used the services of consenting, legitimate providers for any kind of… liaisons he conducts on my property on the risk of immediate eviction if he ignores that term. And believe me, I've seen to it that he didn't," he answered curtly, barely able to keep his irritation at bay. Now that he knew, or might knew were Belle was, every delay, every second they were procrastinating was infuriating him.

To her credit, the sheriff seemed to pick up on it.   
"All right," she declared. "Tell us where to find this cabin and deputy Humbert and I will go down there at once."

"I will show you myself how to get to the cabin, Sheriff," Gold replied in a tone that booked no argument. But of course Emma opened her mouth to argue with him.

He cut her off sharply though. "Once again, I hold the key, dearie…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like protective!Gold


	9. Hellfire reprise

The bumpy drive through the woods to the cabin seemed to take forever. Sitting at the backseat of the police cruiser the adrenaline was pumping through his veins, heightening his senses, sending his thoughts and fears in overdrive. Granny's tale, combined with his own experiences with Claude Frollo left him sick to his stomach with worry for Belle's safety.

After what seemed like a lifetime to him, they finally parked at a make-shift driveway in front of the cabin and he was out of the car before the two cops had even unbuckled their seat-belts.   
"Gold!" Emma's commanding voice booked no argument. "You are not going in. You are going to wait here until Graham and I have swept the place!"

Grudgingly he stopped and pulled the key of the cabin from his pocket and tossed it to the sheriff.   
"Hurry! And get her out of there!" he snapped.

With their guns drawn out in front of them, Emma and Graham entered the dark, bleak house and he was left behind, hovering in front of the door, scarcely daring to breath and trying with all his might to hear something, anything that would indicate her being there. His exhaled deeply, trying to pull himself together, trying to be composed for when she came out of the cabin. He needed to be prepared for whatever had happened to her.   
The icy temperature cause his harsh breath to form a white cloud once it left his mouth and his heart twisted painfully once again, realizing how cold and scared she must have been during the night.

The sweep took a few minutes and then Emma and Graham came out, their postures dejected and their guns tucked back in their belts.   
"The place is empty…" Emma told him. "There's no trace of Belle. We'll need to get a warrant to conduct a more thorough search, that might give us some clues, but she's not in there."

"Oh for God's sake!" he growled, stalking away, around the cabin to an open clearing behind the small house. He started to beat his cane on the frozen, moss-covered forest ground, his anger and terror pouring out of him with every purposeful struck to the ground.

"Gold, what the hell?" Emma yelled, having followed him around, Graham jogging in her wake. Just then, instead of the crisp ground, his cane reverberated on something solid, the dull clunk of wood on metal breaking him out of his rage.   
He stopped, panting and sweating, a tiny smile curling around his lips in satisfaction.   
"I knew it."

Dropping to the ground on his knees, he started to swipe the sand, moss and dried leaves away frantically, slowly revealing an iron plate.   
"Get over here!" he grunted at the two cops behind him, standing there looking at him as if he had lost his mind. Between the tree of them they continued to clear away most of the ground covering the iron plates.

"What is this? Some kind of storm shelter?" Emma asked.

Gold nodded grimly. "I had my suspicions about Frollo building one, but I wasn't sure."

"What does he want with a storm shelter?" Graham asked. "Is he some kind of doomsday prepper?"

"Yes," Gold replied drily." Apart from being a pervert with a lot of twisted sexual preferences, Judge Frollo is also a very religious man. If you ask me, it's the combination of the two that turns him into such a piece of cretin.   
He's expecting a rapture where the blessed Mary will come and take all the righteous, pious people with her, leaving a few of her most trustworthy followers behind to execute the judgement of the heathen. I've suspected for a while now that he's been preparing for this.

"How do you know all this?" Emma demanded. "He gets chatty when he's drunk," Gold answered. "I overheard him at the club about six months ago telling this to Dr. Whale."

"God… this crazy town…" Emma muttered under her breath, before turning more businesslike. "Well, let's see if we can open this place up!"

The three of them started pulling at the handles, the iron plates only slowly giving way. Little by little though, they managed to pull the doors open, revealing an iron ladder leading down to a sparsely lit, underground pass way.

"Belle!" Emma yelled. "Are you there? Can you hear me?"

A faint whimper was heard from somewhere inside the shelter, causing Gold to lose his last bit of restraint. Pushing Emma and Graham aside he hastened down the ladder, into the dark tunnel, ignoring the sheriff's shouts of protest.

"Belle! Where are you?" he roared, wildly looking around, trying to locate her. When he heard another muffled cry, he rushed towards the sound, his feet leading him to a small room at the end of the shelter. He threw the door open and found her sitting in the middle of the room, tied to a chair and muzzled.   
"Belle!" He was on his knees in front of her instantly, taking in her appearance, frantically looking for injuries. The room was dimly lit, only a fraction lighter than the tunnel, but he could make out the cut on her lip and tears streaming down her face, her eyes wide with fear and surprise. He reached out to free her mouth from the muzzle and she instantly gasped for breath.

"You're here…" Her voice was hoarse from screaming and crying. "You've found me! Please, just get me loose…"

She was shaking badly from cold and fright and he wasted no time prying open the knots of the ropes around her ankles, shuddering as he saw the state her feet were in. Her shoes were nowhere in sight and her stockings were torn and raged, her feet covered in scraps and scratches. Her feet were freed easily enough though, but when he moved around the chair to untie her hands he swore loudly as he noticed how her wrists were bound together by a set of tie straps, pulled on so tightly the thin, plastic straps were cutting into the skin of her wrists. He groped around inside his pocket for his swiss army knife and pulled out the knife.   
"I'm sorry, this going to hurt for a moment," he told her before he sliced the knife through the straps, flinching at her hiss of pain as the straps momentarily cut even deeper into her skin.

But then she was free and he moved back to the front of the chair again, pulling her to her feet and enveloping her in his arms. He felt her sag against him and for a moment he just held her, shutting his eyes close, whispering her name into her hair and relishing the feel of her in his arms.

Just then, Emma and Graham burst into the room and he had to let her go, although he refused to move more than a few inches away from her and remained hovering near her.

"Gold, I told you to stay back!" Emma spat at him. Not bothering waiting for a reply, she turned to Belle, her eyes softening a fraction, but her tone still practical.   
"Belle, who took you?"

"Gaston…" She replied hurriedly. "He left about an hour ago, but he could be back any moment."

"We have to leave now," Emma decided quickly. "Gold, you take Belle to the car, Graham and I are right behind you.

Without her usual high heels, Belle looked ever smaller and more petite and he cast another worried glance at her injured feet.   
"Where are your shoes?"

"I lost them last night as Gaston was dragging me though the forest," she explained, already moving towards the door. "It doesn't matter, I'm probably quicker like this."

He kept right behind her as they made their way through the tunnel, Graham and Emma following them with their guns out. Suddenly Graham made a startled noise, and the four of them froze for a moment.   
"Take a look at this…" Graham whispered, indicating another small room connected to the tunnel. The door was slightly ajar, causing a thin streak of light to illuminate a wall that was covered in photos. From the quick look Gold was able to snatch, he recognized the faces of various townsfolk.   
A look passed between the sheriff and deputy and Emma nodded towards Gold.   
"All right…" Graham and I are going to have a quick look. Gold, you take Belle to the car."

He couldn't bring himself to care two jolts about Frollo's mysterious picture wall. All he cared about was getting Belle the hell out of this dungeon and have her injuries looked after.  
"Come on," he told her softly, placing his hand on the small of her back and guiding her towards the ladder. She was still shaking slightly and walking with some difficulty, due to the lack of circulation in her feet. It took her quite some effort to climb up the ladder and once she was outside she shivered violently in the freezing cold, clad only in her silky blouse and knee-length skirt.   
He took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, watching her almost disappear in it as she slid her arms through the sleeves.   
"Thank you…" she said softly, her teeth clattering.

He took her hand in his and started to pull her towards the police cruiser again The sooner he had her inside that car, the better, he realized.   
And what the hell took the sheriff and her deputy so long?

Just as they had passed the cabin, Belle froze, staring at the open front door.   
"Wait a second…" she started slowly and before he could stop her or react in anyway, she'd pulled her hand free from his grasp and was running towards the cabin.

"Belle!" he hissed after her, panic rising up inside him. "Come back… where are you going?"

She dashed through the open door, disappearing from his sight and he chased after her. Seconds later he found her inside the small living room of the cabin, going through the drawers of an old, wooden cabinet.

"Belle!" he seethed again. "What the hell a-…"

"Got it!" she cried triumphantically, pulling a stack of papers and a small envelope from the drawer and stuffing them into the pocket of his coat. "Gaston tried to blackmail me," she explained hurriedly. "This is just a percussion."

Just then they heard the sound of a car stopping with screeching tires in front of the cabin and the both of them froze in horror.   
"Gaston!" Belle mouthed wordlessly, her eyes wide with terror.

"There's another door at the back," he whispered, taking her hand again. They heard Gaston roar outside as he noticed the open front door, while they fled to the back of the cabin, barely making it outside before Gaston stamped in.

"Quick, to the car!" clasping her hand tighter and starting to run towards the vehicle. They weren't going half as fast as he wanted, his ankle screaming in protest, her movements haltering and uncoordinated.

Another roar told him Gaston had left the cabin through the back door as well and he threw a look behind him to gauge how much distance there was still between them.

The next few seconds were both the longest and the quickest of his life.   
Gaston was much closer than he anticipated him to be, holding something heavy and long in his hand. As in slow-motion he saw the man advancing on them, his face contorted in rage and anger. He tried to pull Belle aside, tried to hide her behind his body to shield her, but there wasn't enough time. The field hockey stick rose in the air and came down with an almighty crash on Belle's head, her fingers slipping from his grasp as she sagged motionless to the ground.   
He realized that the scream he heard was his own as he launched himself at Gaston, his cane in front of him, jabbing the steel handle into the man's ribs with all the strength he could muster. Gaston screamed and doubled up in pain, the hockey stick falling to the ground and he lifted his cane again, determined to smash the other man's face to pieces.

Somewhere through the red haze in front of his eyes he heard Sheriff Swan call out:   
"Gold! Back off!" before the sound of a gunshot was heard.   
Gaston rolled away, scrambled to his feet and started to zigzag to the direction of the woods, grasping his side as he ran, Emma running after him. Gold struggled to his feet, clutching his cane and he stumbled back to where Belle was lying on the ice-cold ground.

He sank to his knees, next to her unconscious body, cradling her head into his lap. She was deadly pale and motionless, an ugly black and blue bruise starting to show on her temple, no trace of blood to be seen.   
"Belle…" he whispered desperately, smoothing strands of hair out of her face and pulling his coat tighter around her.

"Belle… please…" He became aware of a figure coming closer and tensed when Graham Humbert put his hand on his shoulder. 

"Let's get her to the car," he said in a flat voice.

Dejection washed over him and he nodded numbly. Instead of saving her, she was now even more injured. Evidently he ended up hurting her the second he got near her.

"I'll carry her," Graham offered quietly and part of him wanted to object, wanted to push the other man aside and carry her himself, but excruciating cramps were shooting through his ankle and he realized how useless he was to her in that moment. He needed all his strength to make it to the car himself.   
So he watched as the deputy Sheriff effortlessly lifted her in his arms, while he needs to brace himself on his cane to get into a standing position.

Minutes later, a still unconscious Belle was settled more or less comfortably on the backseat of the car with him next to her, his arm around her, her head resting on his shoulder.  
Just then, Emma appeared, covered in mud and seething in frustration and anger.   
"The son of a bitch got away!" she spat out, "he's better familiar with this forest than I thought he would."

Checking the rear-view mirror she glanced at Belle and then at Gold. "How is she?"

"Still unconscious," Graham replied instead. "We need to get her to the hospital immediately."

"NO!" Gold protested vehemently, casing Belle to twist slightly against him.

"Whale is not to be trusted. I we take her to the hospital, it will only be a matter of minutes before Claude Follo knows exactly where she is. Take her to my house, she'll be safe there."

Emma sighed, obviously displeased with the suggestion, but giving in eventually.

"All right, your place first. We'll determine there what kind of care she needs." Momentarily relieved, Gold sat back in his seat, pulling Belle close again, as Graham started the car and they drove back to Storybrooke.


	10. Sanctuary

By the time they reached his home, Belle was stirring against him, her soft moans indicating that she was very close to regaining consciousness again. He kept his arm around her, intently watching her face for any kind of change, his heart hammering in his chest. Vaguely he heard Emma calling Granny, telling her that they had found Belle and were taking her to his home, but he only had eyes for the pale face of the woman he'd come to love more than anything else in this world. He imagined he saw her eyelids flutter on occasion, but as long as those blue eyes remained shut, he knew the fear and worry would weigh inside him like a heavy stone.

Once Emma had parked the car in front of the antiques shop, he grudgingly had to let go of her as Graham offered once again to carry her upstairs. Granny and Ruby had arrived at the shop as well, so it was a small procession that ended up climbing the stairs to his apartment above the shop. He directed Graham to a guest room right across his own bedroom and instructed him to lay her down on the bed.

It was late afternoon now and dusk was already setting in, but in the light of the room he was finally able to carefully catalog the extent of Belle's injuries. Her bare feet were scratched and bruised, but the small cuts and scraps only appeared to be superficial. He was far more concerned about the angry red lines around her wrists, breaking her tender skin on a few places and the black bruising surrounding them.   
The cut on her lip didn't seem to deep either, but thinking of how she could have sustained an injury like that made his blood boil. His greatest worry however was the big lump near her temple, now turning angry shades of red, black and blue.   
She was moaning quietly, twisting on the bed, trying to turn away from the light and he rushed to dim it.

"She needs a doctor…" he said hoarsely. "She has a concussion at best and her wrists may need stitching.

"Obviously we can't ask Whale," Emma replied. "But I still think we should…"

She was interrupted by the shrill noise of some pop-song ringtone and Gold scowled furiously at Ruby, who - blushing a deep shade of red - yanked her cellphone from the pocket of her mini-skirt and hurried into the hallway.

"She needs to be transported anyway, obviously she can't stay here," Emma continued. "I say we just get her to the hospital and make sure Whale doesn't get near her. Or Frollo for that matter… I can arrange a police surveillance outside her room…"

The implication that it was impossible for Belle to stay with him had him reeling, but out of worry for her wellbeing, he couldn't help but favor the sheriff's suggestion of bringing her to the hospital.   
But then Ruby returned, looking pale and wide-eyed with worry.   
"That was Archie… Dr. Hopper I mean," she stammered. "He was calling from the hospital… He knew about Belle gone missing and apparently Judge Frollo just came in and thew a fit, ordering everyone to report directly to him if they heard anything about either Belle or his son Gaston."

"Who the hell does he think he is?" Emma fired off. "With police protection, no-one will be allowed to get near Belle when she gets to the hospital…"

"She's not getting anywhere near the hospital," Gold interrupted her, his tone low and dangerous, stepping in front of Belle, looking ready to fight anyone who tried to move her. "She's not getting anywhere near Frollo. Look at the state she's already in… look at what he's done to her…"

"Gold, you just said it yourself, she needs a doctor… " Emma argued. "She could have brain damage for all we know… she'll be fine at the hospital as long as she's being watched."

"No… Mr. Gold is right," Granny's voice came unexpectedly to him, but her next words stunned him even more.   
"Belle won't be more safe anywhere else than she will be here. Nobody will suspect she's here and the few that do won't dare to come near. I think Belle's should stay here with Mr. Gold."

"Oh well then…" Emma agreed reluctantly. "But I still feel her injuries need to be checked…"

"I asked Dr. Hopper to come over," Ruby said hesitantly. "He's a paramedic… he'll be able to tell how serious her injuries are."   
Gold felt all his previous annoyance with the girl evaporating instantly.

"If Dr. Hopper thinks Belle's health is any way at risk, I will personally take her to the hospital though," Emma stated one more time, looking defiantly at Gold.   
He opened his mouth to snap back at her, but a small, hoarse voice caused the words to dry up in his throat.   
"No… hospital… Stay… here…"

"Belle!"

Instantly he was at her side, crouching down awkwardly next to her, careful not to touch her or to hover over her, but unable to stay too far away.   
"How are you feeling? Are you hurt?"   
He could hear the anxiety in his voice, but he was past caring.

"Light… hurts…" she mumbled incoherently, still squinting her eyes.

"You've hurt your head," he told her softly, his hands hovering near her, not quite touching. "Just keep your eyes closed… you're safe now."

"Gaston?" she asked in a frightened whisper, her eyes wide for moment, their blue dark with fear.

"Will not come near you," he assured her, his fingers briefly closing around hers. "I swear to you, Belle. He'll never lay his hands on you again."

She smiled at that, relaxing again, her eyes falling shut. Seconds later she had drifted off to sleep again and he gently let go of her hand, his heart feeling marginally lighter now that she had been awake and lucid.

It wasn't until he turned around and noticed the shocked look on the faces around him that he realized he had given himself entirely away.   
Graham's face was the easiest to stomach. The deputy sheriff was looking at him with mild indulgence. Ruby was just gaping, her face nothing but eyes and the sheriff and Granny were wearing identical faces of incredulous perplexity.   
He felt his spine stiffen and squared his shoulders to rebuff whatever objection they could hurl at him, but was saved just in time by the sound of the doorbell.

* * *

 

Archie Hooper proved to be the calm voice of reason at the end of a gruesome day. He examined Belle swiftly, disinfected the cuts on her feet and her lip and bandaged her wrists. The wound to her head initially concerned him, but when Belle woke up briefly during the examination, lucid and clear, albeit rather sleepy, he concluded that she didn't suffer from any serious brain trauma, apart from a mild concussion.   
He was however, remarkably resolute in telling Sheriff Swan that Belle wasn't in a fit state to be questioned about her abduction until at least the next day. Grudgingly, the sheriff accepted his professional opinion and left with her deputy, though stating clearly that she would return first thing tomorrow.

Dr. Hooper was also surprisingly unfazed by the notion of Belle staying with Mr. Gold, calmly instructing him to wake Belle up at least once during the night to check if she was still responsive. He left with the promise he could be called whenever needed.

Granny, brisk and practical, asked him for a spare shirt, towels, a wash cloth, water and other necessities and then shooed him and Ruby out of guest room telling them she would make sure Belle was settled in comfortably for the night.

A little out of sorts from being ordered around in his own home, he followed Ruby to the kitchen and not really knowing what to do with himself, he watched as she whipped up a pan of soup from ingredients he didn't even know he had in stock.   
The reasonable, logical part of him was grateful for their presence and assistance, but another large part felt extremely on edge. He wasn't used to being around people anymore and having them in his home proved to be even more taxing.   
Half an hour later or so, Granny came down, telling them that Belle was now freshened up and safely tucked in bed and Ruby went up to bring her a bowl of soup.

When it was just the two of them in the kitchen an awkward, heavy silence fell between them.

"I… I'll stop by Belle's apartment later tonight to get a few of her things… if she is to stay here for a couple of days…" Granny eventually offered hesitantly. "She's sleeping in one of your shirts now, but she'll probably more comfortable in her own clothing.

"I'd be much obliged…" he replied, with forced calmness, for the sake of his sanity keeping any images of Belle wearing little else than his shirt at bay.

"I'll send Ruby over tomorrow morning," Granny offered. "Is there anything else you need?"

Her apparently genuinely question startled him. This woman had scorned him for twenty years, had been the main instigator behind the town-wide abhorrent opinion of him and had until earlier today not passed up a single opportunity to voice her disdain of him and his actions.   
"Thank you for your support in convincing Sheriff Swan to let Belle stay here," he eventually said quietly.

"You're welcome," she replied, looking him square in the eye, appearing somewhat embarrassed, but still frank. "I meant what I said."

"Why?" He asked bluntly. He had a reputation for being brutally honest and unyielding in his questions and he had to know. Why had she changed her opinion about him so drastically?

"When Milah came to me that night and told me about the circumstances surrounding Bae's death it was so easy to only see her side of the story and hate you for what you had done…" she started with difficulty. "And then when she was killed that same evening in that car accident… I loathed you… I had already lost my son and daughter-in-law and now my niece and her son… It was so easy to blame it all on you…"

Hearing her talk about Bae cut through him, more acute than he thought it would, the old wound still frayed and sharp. He lowered his head, the all consuming guilt and regret washing over him, almost forcing the air out of his lungs. Granny's next words seemed to come form a great distance.

"I never really took into account what you lost that night… or what you could have lost today."

His head shot up at the last words, only to find her looking at him with a look of astute understanding and his stomach plummeted. His most private emotions were now lain bare and on display. There was no hiding them any longer from anyone. No manner of protecting Belle from the ramification of them.   
They all knew now.

Yet he couldn't help but try, swallowing hard before he spoke. "I cannot lose what was never mine to begin with."

"Well…" The older woman never took her eyes of him, but her look softened a fraction. "Then we are both wrong. I've been wrong about you for over twenty years and you're wrong about what could be yours if you choose to accept it."

"There isn't anything for me to…" he started, but Granny interrupted him gently, shaking her head. "Take it from an old woman who's been known to draw hasty conclusions… Just take everything one step at the time. First try and get that girl safely through the night."

"No harm will come to her," he swore instantly. "I'll see to that."   
It was easier this way. Easier to focus his attention on Belle, on what she needed right now and on what would keep her safe and healthy than the toxic, treacherous pit that was his own heart.

"You will," she conceded. "As I've said before, Belle won't be more safe anywhere else."

Just then Ruby's stepped back into the kitchen, carrying an empty bowl.  
"Belle's asleep," she announced. "She was exhausted."

"We'll be going then," Granny decided promptly. "I think Mr. Gold has had just about enough of this invasion of his home, so we'll leave him be. There's still soup left if you like, we'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

 

Moments later, he found himself alone in his kitchen. After he'd finished the soup, finding himself more hungry than he had anticipated to be, he slowly made his way upstairs, uncertainly hovering at the slightly ajar door of the guest room. He could just make out her sleeping form in the soft light of one of the wall lights. Realizing she needed her sleep more than anything else now, he refrained from going in and risking to disturb her. Instead, he crossed the hall to his own bedroom and fell down in the middle of his bed, flat on his back, his arm draped across his eyes, too exhausted to even think about changing his clothes. His body was worn out, but his mind was reeling with everything that had happened today and he knew it would be long before sleep would claim him.

Now that the acute threat was over and Belle was safe and only two doors away, the terror and panic he had suppressed all day finally burst to the front and cold sweat broke across his brow. Granny had been right. He had come very close to losing her today and although she wasn't in anyway his to lose, it took nothing away from the pain it caused him. She was safe, but she'd also been hurt. She could have been hurt so much more and his stomach clenched in dread with the knowledge that probably tomorrow he would learn the full extent of what had happened to her.   
That bastard had her tied to a chair and gagged, her lip cut and bleeding, her shoes taken so she couldn't run away.   
What else had he done to her? And immediately a dark, terrified part of his mind provided him with images of what could have happened, what she could have suffered and he groaned out loud, the bile rising in his throat.

He tried to steer his mind away from these grim thoughts, trying to focus instead on the way she'd been when she'd emerged from the storm shelter. She had been so collected then, so brave. And so utterly foolish when she had gone back inside the cabin to retrieve god-knows-what that was apparently so important to her that she was willing to risk her life for it.

He had failed her utterly. He had set out to protect her against Gaston Frollo, but instead he had only endangered her further. His little blackmail scheme had backfired horribly when he'd been stupid enough not to take effective measures to ensure the proof he held regarding Judge's Frollo's corruption was kept safe. Then she was abducted from under his eyes, despite the way he'd been guarding her over the past week.   
And in the end, she's been knocked into unconsciousness with him standing only a few feet away, helpless to protect her. And now she was in his home and he vowed once again to protect her, knowing full well how empty his promises were.

She was in his home… she was actually sleeping more or less peacefully only a few feet away. Despite everything he put her through over the last few months she'd appeared relieved, happy even to see him. 

_'After having been abducted by a perverted brute, in comparison even your presence must have been more preferable to her_.' His snarling inner voice had remained silent during the painful months he had tried to shut her out of his life, but was now back with full vengeance.

If he had once made himself any illusions about their friendship, had dared to entertain the thought that she considered them to be friends, he could not delude himself now: any kind of tentative connection that had formed between them was shred to pieces after his abominable treatment of her. There was every chance she didn't want to stay with him once she woke up tomorrow with a clear head and a better grasp on what had happened.

_"You are not who I thought you were."_

Her words - well deserved and true - had taunted him all these weeks. As by some cruel, inexplicable miracle, this beautiful, loving woman with a heart as big as her eyes had believed to see something more inside him, something that was better and more wholesome than the deceitful coward he was. Now the truth had caught up with her and she saw him for who he really was.   
Which was just as well, especially for her sake. As Granny had pointed out, the last two people he had loved were now on a graveyard because of him.

* * *

 

When he woke up again, the room was pitch-dark and he spend a few dazed, foggy seconds trying to remember why he was asleep on top of his bedcovers, fully dressed and aching all over. Then it all rushed back to him and he bolted up, frantically looking for the digital alarm clock on his beside table.

Belle… he should have checked on her, made sure she was still all right. The red figures indicated it was only a few minutes after midnight and he breathed a sign of relief. Leaning heavily on his cane, he limped to the bathroom first. His ankle was killing him, not surprising considering the strain he had put on it the day before. Ignoring the sharp, painful jolts that shot up his cramped lower leg with every step he took, he filled a glass of water and then made his way back to the guest room, pausing only a second before he crossed the threshold.

She was sleeping on her side, facing him, her body curled up in an impossible tight ball, her knees almost touching her nose, her arms crossed over her chest. There was a small frown marring her forehead and it occurred to him that even in her sleep, she was still terrified.

Carefully he put the glass on the night stand and softly called out her name. There was no effect whatsoever and he realized she must be sleeping deeply. He spoke her name again, a bit more insistently this time, but she still remained fast asleep.   
Gingerly he placed his hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently, but she only curled up tighter, her body tensing under his hand and he retracted as if he had burned her.

"Belle… please…" his desolate whisper wasn't intended to wake her, but to his surprise her eyelids fluttered and her eyes opened wide, their blue dark and clouded with sleep.

"Hey…" her voice was raspy and sleepy and made his heart jump. He watched the swirl of emotions in her eyes. Confusion, realization, memories, more confusion.

"I'm… I'm in your house, aren't I?"

He nodded, relief flooding him when he noticed how her eyes became more focused and clear.   
"You are. Gaston hasn't been arrested yet and he won't come for you here."

"Good." A small smile touched her lips at that she tried to sit up, groaning at the effort and eventually giving up after she'd pushed herself up on her elbows. "God… my head hurts…"

He took the glass and offered it to her, supporting her shoulder as she drank. "You have a concussion… that's why I needed to wake you up during the night."

"Oh…" She was staring at him, her eyes searching his face and he found it impossible to hold her gaze, so he busied himself with putting down the glass, avoiding to look at her directly. When his eyes finally settled on her again, she was looking at her hands, a shiver running down her spine.

"Are you cold?" he asked promptly.

"No… yes… Not really," she stammered. "It isn't cold in here, but it was down there it that room and I can still feel it… I can't seem to get to warm."

He wanted nothing more than to crawl in bed beside her and wrap her in his arms, keeping her safe and warm, but he acknowledged this longing was mostly self-serving. She sank down again, unable to keep herself up and he reached down from the comforter at the foot of the bed and pulled it over her. She snuggled deeper into the covers, appearing to be a bit more relaxed than she'd been before.

"Just go back to sleep," he murmured in low, soothing tones, as her eyes began to drift shut again.

Soon her even breathing told him she was fast asleep again. Unable to resist, he caressed a strand of hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear before shakily getting to standing straight again.

She was here. He was living on borrowed time, grasping at the final crumbs that were left of their friendship and he was well aware of it. But for now, she was his to take care of. She was close again and he was going to revel every second of it, commit every detail of it to his memory for when she would be gone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this, I was still watching season 1, so I had no idea where Gold lived.   
> For the purpose of this story, he's living in an apartment above the Antique shop/ pawnshop.   
> Thank you for all the lovely reviews, they really make my day!


	11. Gaston

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More backstory... Ruby's this time...

True to her grandmother's word, Ruby showed up around half past eight the next morning, even before Belle had woken up, carrying an overnight bag.

He was already awake and dressed, making himself coffee in the kitchen. Ruby disappeared upstairs straight away, but returned only minutes later, holding the black overcoat he'd been wearing the day before and had been on Belle when Gaston had struck her to the ground.

"She's still sleeping so peacefully," she told him. "I don't have the heart to wake her."

Having checked in on her himself that morning as soon as he'd risen, he knew what kind of picture she made and he allowed himself a small smile. She'd been sleeping on her back, covered in sheets, duvets and comforters, her cheeks rosy, her lips slightly parted and her arms flung around her head. She slept like she didn't have a care in the world and the sight had made him unbelievably glad.

He had managed to catch a few hours of sleep in the end, but had wakened frequently during the night to listen carefully for any signs of her being unwell.

"You probably need to get this dry-cleaned," Ruby told him, handing him the overcoat.

He had forgotten all about it the day before, discarding it thoughtlessly on a chair in the guest room, but now he remembered something and his hands immediately went to the pockets. Belle had been wearing his coat when she'd rushed back into the cabin. Whatever it was that she had pulled from that drawer, she had put it inside the pockets of his coat.   
Seconds later, he pulled out a small stack of papers and an envelope. Recognizing the stack of papers instantly, his eyes went wide with shock and he gasped audibly. He was holding the bank statements incriminating Judge Frollo, the very same statements that had been stolen from his office a week ago.   
"Smart, clever girl…" he whispered, completely in awe.

Foolish, reckless girl as well for risking her life to get these papers back, but still… she had ensured he had all the evidence he needed to make sure Claude Frollo and his son were going to be locked away for a very long time, the second they both got arrested.

"What's that?" Ruby asked curiously, stepping closer towards him. He gave a pleased smirk and carefully put the papers away in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Never again, he vowed to himself. He would never lose these papers again and put her at risk.   
"This will ensure justice will be served, Miss Lucas," he replied smoothly.

"All right…" Ruby was now eyeing the other object in his hand. "And what's with the envelope?”

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "Belle mentioned something about being blackmailed…" He tore open the envelope and two photographs fell out. He eyed them with a frown, the scene they showed not in any way being familiar to him.   
But then Ruby snatched the pictures from his hands, her curse ending in a loud sob as she stared at the two pictures in her hand, her eyes filling with horror.

"Oh no…no…no…no…" she gasped desperately before dissolving into tears and the next thing he knew he was ushering a wailing young woman to a chair at the kitchen table, pressing a handkerchief into her hand and eventually pouring the girl some coffee, while she continued to sob hysterically. He sat down warily at the other side of the table and waited.

It took a long time before the tears subsided and when she finally looked up at him, her face was red and blotchy, her cheeks streaked with smears of black mascara.   
"It's all my fault," she told him miserably.

"There, there…" he offered, in a what he hoped came across a comforting tone. For the past twenty years or so he hadn't dealt with weeping, hysterical women and he was woo-fully out of practice.   
"How bad can it be?”

"See for yourself," she spat, still hiccuping, tossing the photos on the table between them. He took another look, recognizing the setting as being from a large city. There were people in the photos as well, all wearing identical, red hoodies, all of them adorned on the back with a large image of a grey wolf. Most of them were wearing their hoods and most of them managed to hide their faces, apart from one young woman, standing in the middle, looking straight into the camera, a triumphant smirk on her face, her long, black hair cascading from underneath her red hoodie. She was holding an iron pipe in her hand and was standing next to a pile of stoney debris. With a jolt, he realized the young woman was Ruby.

"What on earth are you doing there… dressed like that…?" He asked bewildered.

Ruby sighed, rubbing her cheeks and looking at him tearfully. "The fall after Belle went to Australia, I went to New York," she began to tell. "I'm not smart or good in anything or something like that, so I didn't move there to go to college or anything, but I wanted to get the hell out of Storybooke and away from my grandmother. I found a job and a studio to live in and I thought I was finally free. I worked during the day, but in the evenings I went out. I wanted to try out every bar and club in the neighborhood. I found friends and we hung out together after work. Most of them were kids like me, struggling to make ends meet, not happy with the way things were. A few of my friends were pretty vocal about it, saying the government was rubbish and needed to be overthrown… I never really cared about all the arguments and politics, but I did think they had a point. Life isn't fair and if nobody does anything about it, nothing is ever going to change. We got together more often and eventually we formed a movement. It wasn't very organized or official, but we called ourselves 'Wolves' because we were tight-knit as a group, but felt like outsiders as well.”

"And what kind of change did you and your friends propose?" Gold asked with a hint of amusement but intently listening to her story all the same.

"Well, Peter had pretty clear ideas about that," Ruby answered, her eyes acquiring a far-away look and a sad smile crossing her face. "He was so full of ideas… He was an idealist, really believed the world could be a better place. He was also the most politically active, it was him who suggested we'd go to the rallies. Peter had a way of saying things that made people stop… that changed their minds… He was so full of conviction… so passionate of what he believed in…"

Ruby paused and looked at him, a blush covering her face, realizing she was spilling her heart to the most cynical man in town. "Well, I loved him," she told him with a hint of defiance. "And I don't care if it makes you think bad of me.”

Instead, he only shook his head. "I scorn many things in this world, dearie. But never that…. What happened at those rallies?”

"They quickly got out of hand," Ruby resumed her tale. "There were a lot of people there that were just there to riot. One of those rallies - the last one - got particularly nasty. We were all there and during one of the speeches somebody started to throw rocks. There was fighting and screaming and suddenly there was a police squat. It was… all adrenaline and mass hysteria… I can't really explain it… all that anger and being in a group… it was like I suddenly became this horrible part of myself that I never knew existed. I found a pipe tube on the ground and I just… went with it.”

Ruby indicated one of the photos. "See that pile of rocks? That used to be a statue before I was done with it. Then there was more fighting and screaming after that and the police squat started to shoot at the protestors. Shortly after I wrecked the statue, they tried to arrest me and Peter rushed to my side to help me… but they… they shot him."

A fresh wave of tears, quietly now, spilled over her cheeks. "After that it was just a nightmare. Peter was dead, I was in jail and I had to stand trail about a month later. I thought they were going to lock me up for years, but then Grandma came and they offered me a deal. I got five years on probation for vandalism and being part of a gang, my grandmother becoming my guarantor. I can't leave Storybooke, I have a curfew, I need to report to my parole officer every week and I'm literally in chains.”

Upon his raised eyebrows, she pulled down the zipper of her knee-length boot and showed him the ankle monitor strapped to her lower leg. "I still have a little over year to go… Nobody knows about it, apart from Granny and Belle… and now you.”

"You never told anyone?" he asked, surprised.

Ruby shook her head. "The people here… they're unforgiving… they'd never let me hear the end of it. Look at how they treated Mary Margaret when she first became involved with David Nolan… or how they've been treating Belle ever since her father lost it… they're still talking behind her back about it. Or what about you for that matter?”

"All right, point taken," he conceded, quickly turning the focus away from himself. "The question that remains is, how did Gaston Frollo got his hands on these photos? And how did he try to use them against Belle?”

"I don't know," Ruby replied, staring into her coffee. "But it must have given him a bargaining chip. Belle knows how much I fear my history becoming public knowledge. If it happens, I won't be able to stay in Storybooke and have to go to prison instead.”

"Is it possible Judge Frollo knew?" Gold asked, the pieces of the puzzle starting to come together inside his head.

Ruby pondered his question for a moment and then nodded slowly. "I guess so… he would have had access to the case files…”

"Who's your parole officer?" Gold asked.

"Keith Nottingham," Ruby replied confused, "why do you ask?”

"Him…" Gold growled. "Well, that explains it. Nottingham, Whale and Frollo have been thick as thieves for as long as I care to remember. It wasn't your fault Belle got abducted, if anything it was mine… I should have stopped Frollo when I had the chance… You… your history was nothing but a pawn to them in their scheme to get their revenge.”

"I'll be so glad when the lot of them is put behind bars," Ruby sighed whole-heartily.

"So will I,' he agreed, even though his heart shrank a little at the thought. Once Gaston and his father were put away, Belle would be gone and with their friendship ruined, she would be gone from his life completely.   
And although it made him a selfish bastard, he both dreaded and longed for the moment Sheriff Swan would announce Gaston's arrest.

"Well, I'm going to see if Belle's awake yet," Ruby told him, getting to her feet and moving towards the door.

"Aye…" he replied absent-mindedly. "Sheriff Swan called me this morning telling me she'd be here around half past ten.”

"Right…" She paused at the threshold, turning around once more. "Hey… you're a pretty good listener…although I'd really appreciate it if you didn't…" her voice trailed off and she gave him an apprehensive look.

"Don't worry, Miss Lucas," he reassured her. "Your secret is safe with me."

* * *

 

As he cleared away the dishes he heard moving and shuffling upstairs, occasionally interrupted by the sound of laughter. He smiled to himself, the sound distracting him from the increasing anxiety building up inside him. Sheriff Swan was due in about fifteen minutes and knowing her, she'd be punctual. He wasn't sure if he was ready to hear what Belle had been through or if he had enough restraint to keep his temper in check and refrain himself from going after Gaston Frollo himself and tearing him limb for limb.

When he heard footsteps in the hallway he stepped out of the kitchen, expecting Ruby coming down. Instead he was floored to see Belle slowly descending the stairs, heavily leaning on the banisters, Ruby following closely behind.

"Belle!" He as at the foot of the stairs instantly, grasping her hands and helping her down the last few steps. "Are you sure you're ready to come down?" He asked worriedly, taking in her appearance.   
She was wearing some kind of pants, made of very soft material and a long sleeved shirt. Her hair was completely down and brushed out and there was some color on her cheeks. But her temple still showed the nasty, now purple bruise.

She nodded determinedly. "I had a good night's sleep and I'm feeling a lot better. The sheriff will be here soon, won't she?”

"She also insisted on getting dressed," Ruby informed him and Belle rolled her eyes.

"Putting on yoga pants and socks is not getting dressed. I'm not going to talk to the sheriff dressed in my pajama's, or.,," She gave him a bit of a mischievous smile. …your shirt.”

His mouth went instantly dry. "As long as you're comfortable," he managed to crook. Suddenly Ruby was nowhere in sight and he found himself standing alone with her at the foot of the stairs.   
"How are you feeling?" he asked very seriously.

"I'm fine," she told him, once again giving him that same, searching look she had given him the night before, before smiling a little. "A little sore perhaps, but otherwise fine.”

He wanted to wrap his arms around her, hold her close and never let her go. Hold her until every last bruise had faded from her perfect skin. And then he would tell her how much loved her, how much he needed her and how he was going to make sure she would never be hurt again.

But that would be a momentously stupid thing to do. And he was done with being stupid.

So instead he suggested they'd go to the living room where she would at least be able to sit comfortably on the couch. He lingered behind her in case she needed support, but she was able to make her way to the living room on her own steam, her movements only slightly uncoordinated.

The sound of the doorbell, indicating the sheriff's arrival came both as a relief and an interference.

* * *

 

Belle was sitting in the middle of the couch, her posture rather rigidly, Ruby and Gold sitting on either side of her like two preposterous, rather guilt-ridden guards while sheriff Swan was sitting on the armchair next to the couch.

"Well, Miss French," the sheriff started resolutely. "Can you tell us what happened?”

"Of course…" Belle replied, taking a deep breath to calm himself and Gold wished with all his heart he could spare her this, this painful re-telling of what must be one of the most traumatizing experiences of her life.

"I was working late on Thursday night," Belle started. "After I'd closed up the library I walked home to my apartment by myself. Gaston Frollo had been bothering me before, but lately he'd kept at bay, so I figured he'd finally lost interest and I was safe to walk on my own. I had just left Main Street when he stepped in front of me and grabbed me. He'd been trying to persuade me to come with him before, but this was different. He was… purposeful… he didn't seem to care that I didn't want to go with him.”

"What time was this?" Sheriff Swan asked.

"Around a quarter past nine," Belle replied. "Or twenty minutes at most. I tried to get away from him and scream, but he slapped his hand over my mouth… that's how I got this…" she indicated the small cut above her lip and Gold felt his blood starting to boil.

"When I realized I couldn't get away, I decided to wait for a better moment to escape, but he dragged me to his car. LaFou was already inside and they drove me to the forest. We drove past Toll Bridge and a few miles beyond that until the car couldn't go on anymore. Then Gaston pulled me from the car and started to drag me through the woods. I lost my shoes somewhere along the way… Eventually we came to the cabin and he locked me inside. Then he told me he’d taken me there because of his father… that Judge Frollo wanted to marry me…”

_“What?_ ” The word was uttered almost simultaneously by everybody in the room and Gold felt torn between bewilderment and hot-white fury.

_“Judge_ Frollo wanted to marry you?” Emma repeated incredulously.

Belle shrugged self-consciously. “I was just as floored as you are… but then Gaston started this whole tirade about his father being anointed and that if I was to convert to there ways I’d be spared judgement… most of it didn’t even make sense…”

But Gold understood. Claude Frollo and his religious delusions…    
He’d been protecting Belle from the wrong monster all along.

“So you told Gaston to go packing?” Ruby inquired, her eyes still large with shock.

“I was sorely tempted,” Belle admitted, but then…” Her voice faltered and she turned towards Ruby, her face anxious. "I'm so sorry, Ruby…" she told her. "He had pictures… he threatened to tell everybody…”

"Tell them what?" Emma asked sharply. "How does Ruby fit into all of this?”

"If you don't want to, I won't tell them," Belle told her friend intently, completely ignoring the sheriff's question. "I won't let anything happen to you…”

"Of course you should tell them," Ruby responded furiously. "After what those bastards did to you, I'll tell it myself!”   
She turned whirled around to Emma, her posture defiant and her tone fierce. "Almost four years ago I was convicted for being part of a gang and vandalizing public property during a political rally in which my boyfriend was killed. I'm on probation and partial house-arrest. I didn't want anyone to know because life would be impossible for me here and if I can't stay in Storybooke, I'll have to go to prison… Gaston and Judge Frollo knew about it and they tried to blackmail Belle with it. And I don't care if everybody finds out know… I want those two behind bars for what they did and if I end up locked up as well then so be it…!”

"It won't come that far," Gold interjected firmly. "This particular testimony should become a confidential part of the police investigation. And if needed I'll act as your lawyer to make sure it will be so.”

He barely registered the look of shock on the face of the sheriff or Ruby, because Belle swirled around and gave him a beaming, brilliant smile and for a moment his heart soared.

"You don't have to worry about any ramifications from your testimony, Ruby," Emma reassured her. "But let me get this straight: Judge Frollo tried to make you marry him, threatening to expose Ruby's crime otherwise. But you never actually spoke to him, but only with Gaston?”

"Gaston was acting on his orders," Belle replied thoughtfully. "And it was obvious he was under a great deal of pressure. He became terrified when I refused the deal… I think he feared his father's displeasure.”

"What happened then?" Emma asked gently and Gold twisted nervously in his seat.

"Gaston panicked…" Belle told them. "He kept repeating how it wasn't the plan… how everything would be ruined…When I still refused, he dragged me to that storm shelter and tied me to a chair. He said he was going to leave me there until I had come to my senses… that he would make me see reason… Then he left… and it was so cold down there and so dark. He returned after… I think it was a couple of hours… and asked me again if I would marry his dad. I told him no again and he left me once more…" she shivered at the memory, pulling the top of her sleeves over her hands and shrinking a little.

He wanted nothing more than to throw everyone else out, wrap her up in a blanket and hold her until all her memories of that terrible place had faded. She looked so small and lost all of a sudden and he could only imagine how terrified she must have been, being alone in the dark in that freezing bunker.

"Perhaps we should leave it at this," he spoke in a clipped tone of voice, turning a steel look towards the sheriff. "She's had enough for one day.”

Emma just scowled at him, but it was Belle who actually answered him, turning towards him once more and placing her hand briefly on his lower arm, squeezing it in a reassuring gesture.  
"I'm fine, really. I need to tell this and I'm almost done anyway.”

Looking back at Emma, she continued: "There was something odd he said then, something I didn't understand completely. About some papers… bank statements… no longer posing a threat to his dad because he took care of it and that they weren't going to protect me any longer…”

As if punched, Gold shifted back on the couch, the familiar dread seeping through his veins again. He could have stopped Frollo months ago, made sure he got locked up and spared Belle all of this.

"After that he left and he didn't come back until the following morning. He said he was going to leave to make some preparations and that his dad would come in the afternoon… And then a few hours later instead you guys showed up. I was so glad to see you…”

He never noticed the small glance she threw his way as she spoke the last words, too wrapped up in his own guilt.

"I have one question left," Emma said. "Why did you go into that cabin?”

"Ruby's pictures," Belle replied instantly. "I knew Gaston had stuffed them in a drawer before he took me to the storm shelter and I couldn't just leave them there for everyone to find.”

"Belle…" Ruby's voice sounded timid and small and tears were already forming in her eyes. "I am so, so sorry…”

"What?" Belle whipped around so fast she made him jump. "What on earth are you talking about?”

"Frollo used my past against you… tried to cajole you into marrying him…" the were streaming now.

"He had no right to do that!" Belle replied vehemently. "He tried to hurt you as much as he tried to hurt me… that's why I went back into that cabin and I think I found those bank statements as well… I couldn't leave that kind of evidence behind… I want him locked up. Ruby… this isn't your fault…"   
And with that Belle started to cry as well, hugging her friend fiercely.

"Bank statements?" Emma asked, straightening in her chair, addressing Gold. "The same bank statements containing evidence against Judge Frollo you've mentioned earlier? The evidence you used to threaten Gaston to stay away from Belle?”

Gold froze at her words, not risking looking at Belle, who was untangling herself from Ruby, silently pulling the bank statements and Ruby's pictures from his inside pocket and handing them to the sheriff. The silence in the room was deafening until Belle spoke softly, realization dawning in her voice.  
"It was you who kept Gaston away from me…”

"I confronted him the day after you told me he was bothering you…" He explained, his voice deprived of emotion. "I'd been sitting on those papers for a while… I suspected what he was up to, but I wasn't sure yet… All the same I thought I could use them to warn Gaston off. I never realized Judge Frollo's involvement until after you were taken. I grossly misjudged the situation…" His voice faltered.

_'… and you were hurt because of it. I couldn't keep you safe. You were all that mattered, but I couldn't protect you from him.’_

"None of us did," Emma interjected. "The man is twice your age, who would have guessed he was preying on you?”

He cringed at the careless spoken words and fought to keep the expression on his face blank, only clenching his fists.

"I didn't see it coming either," Belle acknowledge. "All along I thought Gaston was just being obnoxious. It doesn't really matter. In the end, you got me out, that's all that counts."

Again, the last few words were aimed towards him, but they didn't really filter through his brain.

' _What counts is that you got her *into* that situation to begin with and once she realizes that, she'll be gone faster than even Milah ran from you,_ ' the voice taunted and a sudden, clear imagine of Belle's disgusted, affronted face - much the same expression as the one that had filled Milah face before she'd stormed out of their house twenty-one years ago - filled his brain.

"Okay," Emma concluded, getting to her feet. "Thank you for telling me, this answers a lot of the blanks. And this…" she waved the papers, "…will answer even more. I can't say much more, because the investigation is still going, but I promise to tell you when I can divulge more. In the meantime, I think it would be advisable for you to stay with Mr. Gold until Gaston is found, unless you object to that?”

"N-no…" Belle replied hesitantly, coloring slightly. "Not at all…”

"You mean you're not going to arrest Claude Frollo straight away?" he demanded incredulously.

"Not until we have found Gaston," Emma replied. "So far all the evidence we have against the Judge is circumstantial. It won't be enough to put him away. His son's testimony would and from what Belle just told us I think I could manage to convince him. But for that I need to find him first.”

He begrudgingly had to agree that it was sound reasoning. Belle's next words however caused the blood to turn cold.

"I understand if I'm an inconvenience… I could return to my apartment…”

Like he was bloody cursed. One time he had tried with all his might to say the things that would drive her away from him and now it seemed that everything he said to her was coming out cruel and insensitive.   
"No!" he cried out, rather explosively, startling her.

_'Nice going, once again,_ ' his inner-voice snarked.

"I'd like you to stay," he managed in a more collected tone of voice, "Just stay until Frollo is arrested… make that both of them…”

"Al right…" she answered hesitantly. "I'm sure it won't be long.”

"No… I'm sure it won't be…" he agreed, his wrought-out heart dropping with a dull thump to the bottom of his feet.

"It'll be over before we know it."


	12. Then Somebody Bends

Curled up on the couch, hibernating underneath a blanket, Belle tried to keep her attention focused on ' _The Thirteenth Tale'_ , one of the more surprising books she'd found in the antique dealer's overflowing bookcase. The story - in many ways a re-telling of Jane Eyre - was definitely captivating, but despite the compelling intrigue, Belle felt her mind constantly wandering to a more frustratingly mystery right under her nose.   
She'd been staying at his house for three days now as sheriff Swan was still chasing after Frollo and everybody and their grandmother deemed it unsafe for her to be on her own. It wasn't that she minded staying with him, quite the contrary in fact. She had been surprised by how easily she'd felt at home in his house. He liked to keep to himself and it was clear that his house, with the heavy drapery in front of the windows and the dark furniture that was his sanctuary. But once inside, upon closer look, the dark, impressive house harbored a thousand little interesting things that enchanted her. Books she'd never suspected to come across in his bookcase. The beautiful, idyllic painting above the fireplace, the delicate china set on the buffet. His extensive music collection… in a way, the house was very much like the man himself, intimidating on first impression, but full of surprises once you managed to get behind the exterior.

Only she felt that lately she hadn't been able to really get behind that facade he kept up. He was sending her so many mixed signals that it made her head spin. Truth to be told, ever since the day he had all but thrown her out of his shop, she had no idea were they stood.   
When he had abruptly ended their budding friendship, it had hurt her more than she'd ever thought possible. From one day to the other, he was avoiding her like the plague and she'd wrecked her mind trying to figure out what she'd done wrong.   
Eventually she concluded that she had probably grossly intruded on his privacy the night she had brought him home from The Rabbit's Hole. Him being the intensely private man that he was, it made sense. And although a small, stubborn part of her refused to truly regret her actions, she accepted that his distancing himself from her was probably her own doing.

But if that had been the case, it didn't make sense why he didn't seem to mind her staying with him for days on end now. She reasoned that perhaps her wishful thinking had made their friendship into something more than it really was. After all, most of their contact had been initiated because of library business. And even if their conversations had strayed from that, it still meant that they shared nothing more than a very comfortable working relationship.   
And yet… if she truly wasn't more to him than the town's librarian, someone more or less in his employment, then why had he gone out of his way to keep Gaston away from her, even going as far as threatening him?   
And why had he been so involved in rescuing her after she'd been abducted? Alone in the dark, half-frozen and scared to death, she had cried in relief when she'd heard his voice. Up until then she'd managed to stay calm, be brave and keep it together. But when she heard him call out her name, his voice rough with anxiety and fear, her tears had come and suddenly she'd wanted nothing more than to be in his arms.

And in his arms she had been, minutes later when he had untied her and wrapped her up in a tight embrace. She had never felt so safe as in that moment, her nose buried in his chest, his arms around her, his scent enveloping her.

The first twelve hours or so after Gaston had struck her were blurry and unclear. She vaguely remembered being in a car, once again held in his arms, she remembered dreaming about hearing voices, talking about taking her to the hospital, her fright and his reassurance that he would keep her safe. She wondered if it had been a dream, because the next morning she had woken up in a strange, huge bed, tucked underneath soft sheets and duvets, warm and comfortable and very, very safe. In many respects,

Belle wasn't used to feeling protected. After her mother had died, she had quickly learned to take care of herself. Her father, unstable and emotionally distant, often very self-centered because of his affliction could never be bothered with her problems and fears. Belle wasn't used to turning to other people for help, not in the habit of troubling other people. She had been shocked to learn of the lengths he had gone to protect her from Gaston, even going as far as threatening him to stay away from her. She worried about the amount of trouble he could have gotten himself in on her behalf and yet… it was a wonderful feeling to know that someone was looking out for her, that someone cared about her safety.

If he actually did… since he had made it very clear that he wasn't interested in her, aside from her occupation. She had missed him horribly in the weeks after their fall out. She missed seeing him at Granny's in the morning, missed the half-smiles he gave her, missed his dry humor, missed the sound of his voice, missed the rush of excitement that fluttered in her stomach when he was near her.

And now she was staying in his house and she was more confused, more puzzled by his behavior than ever before. Up until yesterday, she had spend a lot of time sleeping, worn out by the scaring events of the previous day. Today was the first day she was properly up and about and noticed fully just in what kind of peculiar mood he was. He hardly left her side during the day, apart for the hour or so he popped down to the backroom of the shop to work on some repairs. But even then, he kept the doors of the hallway wide open as if he couldn't bear to let her out of his sight. More often than that, he brought his repairs upstairs, or poured over massive account books. He was constantly near her, guarding over her like a hawk. Yet, at the same time he was also quiet and withdrawn. He only fleetingly made eye-contact with her, barely talking to her. She felt his eyes on her often, but safe for the few times she'd been to quick for him and caught him staring at her, he was always quick to avert his eyes.

There had always been a bit of tension between them, but before she had, in her hopeful naivety, always attributed it to the chemistry between them and the slow burn of their growing attraction. The tension had been there, but they had never lacked a subject to talk about, they had always been comfortable with each other. Now their silences were awkward and stretched out until she felt her stomach churn with nerves and her brain freeze helplessly.

And then, just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, just as she was about to suggest that it would be better if she just returned to her own apartment, there was something in the way he looked at her briefly, or the way he said her name that send shivers down her spine.

She didn't know where they stood. Whether he was angry with her or not, if he even liked her or not, she just didn't know. She couldn't figure him out anymore.

* * *

 

In the afternoon he spend some time at the shop, almost having finished mending the wreckage Gaston has caused. He needed this deprive from Belle's presence, just so he could clear his head and get a grip on himself. After spending two days mostly sleeping, she'd woken up clear-headed that morning. For the most part, he delighted at her speedy recovery. Just knowing she would suffer no lasting effects from her ordeal took a huge weight off him. But now he felt there was no escaping the clear, blue eyes that were constantly looking at him, questioning him, imploring quietly.  
He knew she deserved answers, deserved an explanation and he didn't have a clue were to start.

In the end, he couldn't stay away from her for more than an hour, before the need to see her again, to be near her became too great. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized he was setting himself for up for a lot of heartache if she was eventually going to leave him again, but he couldn't help himself.   
Once back upstairs he found her reading on the couch, as he had expected, curled up underneath a blanket. Suspecting she was still soaking up every bit of warmth she could find after spending a full day in a freezing underground shelter, he offered to lit the fireplace. To his surprise, she blushed deeply at his suggestion, turning red to the roots of her hair, but nodded eagerly, her eyes shining.   
To be honest, he'd never bothered with the fireplace before, but as luck would have it, he still had a small supply of dry wood - he would stock up first thing tomorrow - and after they'd had their dinner he managed to build a decent fire.

Soon the living room was toasty warm and Belle was watching the ever moving, dancing flames as if hypnotized by them, the soft light of the fire giving her face and hair a warm glow. He couldn't keep his eyes off her and used her momentarily distraction to stare unashamedly at her, taking in her beauty and committing every detail of her to his memory. Suddenly she turned around, her eyes fixed on him and he froze, unable to break their gaze or look away.   
"Can I ask you something?"

It wasn't really a request, more a very soft-phrased demand and he nodded wordlessly.

"Did I upset you that night? When I took you home from The Rabbit's Hole? Were you angry with me?"

"Wha- No!" he replied, shock clear in his voice. "Of course I wasn't… why would I be?"

"Because afterwards you acted as if you didn't want to know me anymore…" There was a tremor in her voice and she bit her lower lip vehemently to keep it from trembling. "You shut me out…"

"Oh god… Belle…" His heart sank to the bottom of his feet. The confession he owed her, the one he should have given her months ago, before she had started to consider him as a good sort or man could no longer be delayed. Especially when she was faulting herself for something that had been his doing entirely.   
"It wasn't anything you did, I swear. You are so good and caring… and I am such a wretched fool…" he looked up for a moment into her stunned, wide-opened eyes and cringed in mortification.   
"I was ashamed you'd seen me like that… a pathetic, drunk old man… I had embarrassed you…"

"No, you didn't!" she interrupted him fiercely, her voice just as adamant as his had been moments earlier. In much gentler tone she continued, "How much do you remember about that night?"

"Enough!" he spat bitterly, disgusted with himself. "I remember what I said… how I acted…"

"Well then, if you remember then you know you did nothing untowardly," she said convincingly.

"Belle…" He started in a tormented voice, before breaking off and gathering his thoughts. "I… I had drowned an entire bottle of Scotch… wasn't fit to stand on my own two legs… even less than usual… leaving it to you to see me home… I wasn't supposed to go down that far… scoop that low…"

"So what happened?" Her voice was still incredible soft and gentle. "Granted, I never took you for the type to drown you sorrows, so what made you go down that road?"

"It was an anniversary of some sort," he replied and as he spoke the words he realized he'd gone past the point of no return. The story, the whole despicable truth of it was going to come out now and once he'd told her, she'd be gone and she would despise him as much as the rest of the town did.

"What has Granny told you about me?" he asked.

"Not a lot, she doesn't really like you," she confessed, a little perplexed at his question. "She told me you've been married once… but that's about it…"

"Well, I was…" he answered, fixing his gaze firmly on his hands that were tightly balled into fists. "Twenty years ago I was married and I had a son… a beautiful boy named Baelfire.,,"

And with that the story unfolded. He told her about the early years of his marriage to Milah, the struggle to make a better life for her and mostly for Bae. He told her about joining the fire brigade and how he had believed that it would change his life around.   
And he disclosed every painful, humiliating detail of the night of the fire. Of his fear and panic, alone in that burning building. Of his cowardly flight when he should have gone upstairs to that second landing to make sure no-one was there. Of his cow hearted lies and cover-up, only so he wouldn't be exposed for the coward that he was. Of the stupid accident that ruined his ankle permanently and made him cripple for the rest of his life.

When he got to the part of Bae's death he almost couldn't go through, his voice cracking with grief. Voicing his guilt, putting his transgressions into words made them somehow even more repulsive.

When he was done he felt worn-out, his emotions shredded to pieces and he braced himself for her response, every muscle in his body tensing in anticipation of the condemnation that was to come.

When he felt her hand on his arm his breath choked in his throat and his shoulders cramped up. She pulled at his arm, insistently forcing him to turn towards her and his stiff, rigid body followed powerlessly.   
He finally looked up at her face again, fully expecting to see her look of revulsion and disgust, steadying himself for her rejection.

And then she was around him, her hands caressing his face and hair, tears falling from her eyes, her arms winding around him, pulling him close, her voice whispering tearfully: "I'm so sorry this happened to you… I'm so sorry…."

And he broke. He could feel himself shattering, every wall of self-preservation crumbling against her warmth and compassion, all the pent up grief and pain, everything he'd bottled up for so many years fighting it's way out.   
He wrapped his arms around her waist, desperately holding on to her, his face buried in the crook of her neck. Her arms were around his upper back and shoulders, her fingers softly stroking the hair at the nape of his neck, her lips pressed against the crown of his head, whispering soothing words. And he wept, his pain too much to remain inside, but finally bearable enough to come out.

* * *

 

A long time later they drew apart. He pulled back and ran his hands over his face, retreating a little and Belle sat back, understanding he needed some space to gather himself, but reluctant to move too far away from him. She settled for moving back a few inches and curling up on the couch, her feet tucked underneath her, facing him directly. He leaned against the back rest of the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him and she could tell by his posture that he was exhausted. His eyes were wary and red-rimmed, his hair slightly tousled.

Still, when she offered him a tentative smile, the corners of his mouth turned up and more importantly, the lines around his eyes crinkled and Belle felt her heart swell, feeling some of the former comfort between them returning.   
"I'm so sorry this happened to you," she repeated her earlier words, hoping he would hear the sincerity of her words. He seemed accepting of her words at first, but then bowed his head, his expression darkening.   
"It was all my own doing. If I hadn't been a coward, my boy wouldn't have died."

His words made her heart ache for him. She understood him so much better now. For months she had wondered as she had caught glimpses of a softer, more feeling man behind the cold and harsh exterior, had suspected that somewhere along the line something had hurt him so deeply that he had retreated into himself and pulled his walls up.

Now she knew the truth and it was more painful, more heart-breaking than she could have imagined. Not just him losing his son and his wife, but the horrible events surrounding their deaths, his self-imposed guilt and the harsh condemnation of the town.   
Hadn't any of them realized what he'd lost, what he'd gone through, she thought indignantly to herself.

There was so much she'd like to say to him. She longed to convince him that he wasn't to blame, to use all her passion and conviction to persuade him that none of this had been his fault, but she also recognized how fragile he was, how deep and cutting and completely unhealed this wound in his soul was. Any thoughtless word would only hurt him only more now.

She bit her lower lip thoughtfully, trying to determine what to say and what to remain silent on. He gave her a curious look, his eyes holding her gaze and she noticed with a small thrill that most of the reticence was gone from his look.  
"What is it?" he asked quietly.

"It wasn't your fault," she ventured carefully, closely watching he reaction.

"It was." His voice was flat and resigned, but he didn't move away from her, his body remaining perfectly still and relaxed and she took that as a good sign.

"I should have checked the second floor and I didn't. Most likely they were there when the fire started and they couldn't make it downstairs."

"Would you have been able to go up those stairs had you wanted to?" she asked, "or were they already impassable?"

"It doesn't matter," he replied shaking his head. "It's no matter if I _could_ have gone up there, I _should_ have. I should have tried everything to save my son's life. And I didn't. The blame is mine."

A sudden thought struck her, causing her eyes to widen and she wondered if he had ever considered this, if anyone else ever had for that matter…   
"You said there was another child up there with Bae?"

He seemed surprised at the question, but nodded silently, a sad smile crossing his face.   
"A girl… her name was Morraine… she was Bae's best friend… they'd been thick as thieves since kindergarten…"

Realization dawned on her and her heart twisted painfully, knowing that the bitter truth was perhaps as painful as the guilt he'd carried around all these years.   
"So they were up there together?" she asked gently. "Say you had been able to reach the second floor and had found them… would you have been able to save them both? Would you have been able to bring them both down to safety?"

His head shot up and he gaped at her. "I… I would have… I couldn't…" He stumbled, her words slowly penetrating his understanding. "Not at the same time, no… If they had been hurt I could have taken only one at the time…"

His eyes were now dark with terror, the desperation rolling off him in waves. "I would've had to choose and…I…" His face twisted in horror… "God forgive me… I would have chosen my son… I would have brought him to safety first…and then come back for Morraine… but it would have been too late… "

"And you would have spend the last twenty years feeling just as guilty as you feel now because of Morraine…" she finished for him. He collapsed against the couch, running his hands over his face once more.   
"It never could have saved them… one way or the other…"

His anger was still there, but it was tinged with helplessness now.

"There wasn't anything you could have done," she soothed him "You were alone in a burning house, that was on the verge of collapsing… you couldn't have known your son was up there and as much as you wish it, you couldn't have changed any of these circumstances. It was a terrible accident and there's no one to blame for it."

He shut his eyes tightly, his breathing shallow. "But it couldn't have just been an accident… I can't have lost my beautiful boy to an accident… There has to be a reason… there has to be someone to blame…"   
He looked up at her, giving a frustrated sigh. "I know I'm not making much sense…"

"Oh, you do…" Belle replied, feeling the tears sting behind her own eyes now, curling up a little. "When my mother died I blamed that truck driver for months. She was my mother, she couldn't just _die_ … for no real reason apart from a pointless accident… so I hated the man for a long time…"

His eye shot wide open at her words and she could see something click within him.   
"You understand…" he breathed, looking at her as if he was seeing her for the first time.

She smiled sadly at him. "I do… I wanted to hate someone, because somehow that made it easier. I even refused to see him when he came to see me and my dad weeks after the accident… I was horrible and resentful…"

"You were hurting.,," he replied instantly, turning towards her.

"So are you." Belle rested her head against the couch, fatigue suddenly overtaking her.   
"In the end I accepted that my mother's accident had been just that… an accident. I still resent it, but… I don't want to put blame anymore."

He reached out and took her hand in his, gently interwinding their fingers, taking Belle completely by surprise and causing a tingling warmth to spread through her. He _never_ initiated physical contact and now he was holding her hand. She recognized the touch for what it was, a basic human contact, seeking comfort and giving it and she curled her fingers around his.

"I don't think you're even capable of hating or even blaming someone for a long period of time," he told her quietly, with a soft, knowing smile. He met her gaze and held it, with a hint of shyness in his eyes, sending her heartbeat into overdrive.

"Well, you've been blaming yourself for all these years and you're hurting because of it. And I do hate to see you in pain."

"You do, don't you?" He asked, his eyes filled with wonder, closing his hand more tightly around hers as she nodded.

"I… " He took a deep breath, trying to formulate his thoughts into words, clearly overwhelmed. "I don't think I'm there yet… I don't know if I ever will be…"

"I know," she told him gently, snuggling into the couch, her mind turning a bit fuzzy and it occurred to her that this might be the first time ever that he had even entertained even the possibility that he wasn't to blame.   
And for tonight, that was more than enough.

He looked at her and suddenly the dazed, introspective expression on his face cleared and was replaced by acute worry.   
"You're exhausted!" he exclaimed softly. "I've kept you up for hours."

"I'm fine," she was quick to reassure him, but then a wide yawn unexpectedly overtook her and she blushed slightly.   
"Sorry…" she said sheepishly.

He got to his feet and pulled her up as well. "Off to bed with you, you're still recuperating. I'll bank the fire."

"All right then…" Now that she was on her feet she truly felt how tired she was and it seemed pointless to argue with him.

Then she noticed how close he was standing.

"Belle… thank you… " He was looking at her with that same unguarded, wondrous look in his eyes as on the night she'd taken him home from The Rabbit's Hole and he had told her she was beautiful. Only now he was stone sober and completely tongue-tied.

So instead she smiled and stood on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck in a brief hug, feeling her heart swell as his hands went up her back to return it. They were going to be all right.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'The Thirteenth Tale' is a wonderful book written by Diane Setterfield.


	13. Like a Lamb to the Slaughter

Much to his own surprise he slept soundly that night, for the first time since he couldn't remember how long not waking up until the bleak February sunlight spilled through his window. It was already half past eight and he felt more rested, more at ease than he had in a long time. He showered and dressed into one of his suits, feeling rather pleased he didn't have to open up the shop today. Just as he started on breakfast, he heard movement upstairs, telling him that Belle was up as well.

About twenty minutes later she came down, wearing a polka-dotted dress made out of soft fabric and her hair up in a loose bun. The angry bruise on her temple was beginning to fade and for the first time since her ordeal, she began to look like her old self again and he felt his insides unclenching further.   
They sat down and had breakfast at the small table in the kitchen. Previously he had never eaten there before, but she appeared to like the cosiness of the kitchen, bright in the morning light and filled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. After breakfast he refilled their coffee and they settled down on the couch after he had rekindled the fire, chasing the morning chill away from the living room.

And they talked. Picking up old conversations, diving into new topics, teasing and laughing together. They talked for hours as if they were trying to catch up on all the months they hadn't spoken to each other. They talked and he was lost.   
Lost in her sparkling eyes, in her smiles and her laughter, enthralled by her warmth and her light. The small part of his brain that still tried to exercise some semblance of self-control constantly warned him to keep his eyes and his hands to himself and he made a conscious effort to do the last, to refrain himself from touching her, from reaching out and pulling her close, burying his nose into her skin and hair as he had done the night before, letting her scent enfold him, drawing whatever strength and comfort from her that she offered.

But to look anywhere else than into the blue orbs that shined warmly was impossible. He couldn't keep his eyes off her, drinking her in, storing every little detail away inside his memory for when she wouldn't be there anymore. From the way her long eyelashes fluttered just before she laughed to the way her cheek dimpled.   
There was a softness about her as she talked to him, in the way she looked at him and he suspected it had everything to do with what he had told her the night before, with the way he had allowed his defenses to crumple and let her see the raw pain he'd carried with him for over two decades. And he felt himself to be oddly comforted by her care and compassion, finally experiencing a semblance of peace, just by being near the woman he loved.

She was beautiful and loving and everything he longed for.

And he would miss her horribly once she had left.

He recognized he had let himself get drown in much too deep. It was so easy, so right to have her stay with him. She'd only been there for a few days, but his house felt more like a home than it ever had before. He could grow old like this, with having breakfast in a sunny kitchen, evenings spend on the couch in front of a blazing fire, books shattered all over the place and her scent and laughter filling every nook and cranny of the house. She was in his every thought and dream, in his very skin, but once Claude and Gaston Frollo were arrested - which he expected to happen any moment now - he would have to let her go. She would return to her flat, to her life and he would have to content himself with their friendship, which was already a great deal more than he deserved considering the abominable way he had treated her.

But the past few days had allowed him a glimpse of the life he might have had, if he were a better sort of man. And he fond himself longing for that life with everything that was in him.

* * *

 

He drove into town after lunch to stock up on groceries and more wood for the fireplace. His trip was interesting to say the least and as soon as he'd finished his errands he hurried home, eager to be back at her side, treasuring the feeling of having someone waiting for him at home.

Granny and Ruby stopped by later that afternoon and the older woman finally told Belle the whole truth of the Frollo's vengeance towards her and her father and all the circumstances surrounding his admittance to the asylum. He was impressed by how calmly she took it, how composed she appeared and how she instantly assured the older woman over and over again that she didn't blame her in the slightest, realizing once again how brave and strong she really was. It wasn't until after he'd seen Granny and Ruby out - he didn't dare to let Belle near the front door yet, so he walked them down himself - and returned upstairs that he found her on the couch with tears streaming down her face.   
He was at her side in mere seconds and even before he had completely enfolded her in his arms, she was already snuggled against him, her hands clinging to the lapels of his jacket, crying in earnest.

And he stroked her hair and rubbed her back lightly, astounded by the fact that she was crying in his arms, that she'd put up a strong face for Granny and Ruby and was letting herself fall apart with him.

* * *

 

The sheriff's call came around ten o'clock that evening, just as Belle was getting up to go upstairs. After all the emotion of the afternoon they'd spend a very quiet evening and he had ended up reading Jane Eyre to her since reading in the evening still put too much strain on her eyes and because it distracted him from compulsively calculating the age difference between 29 and 47.

Despite expecting it for days, the news still startled him.   
Claude and Gaston Frollo had both been arrested and were already charged and on their way to Boston to await prosecution, while Donny LaFou and Keith Nottingham were currently being held at the Sheriff's station. Sheriff Swan ensured him that there was a great deal more to the story, but that she would come and explain it to them the next day in person. She quickly ended the call after that and he lowered the phone, staring at Belle with a stunned, almost blank expression as the full implication of the news started to filter through his brain.

Belle was safe.

The threat was gone.

She would leave him now.

To his astonishment, she seemed almost as much taken aback by this new development, hovering indecisively in the doorway, pondering and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth for a full minute before the hint of a smile started across her face.   
"It's really over then…" she said softly.

"Yes…" Despite himself, he was elated for her sake. "You don't have to fear either of them ever again…"

Her smile broadened at that for a moment, before a shadow fitted over her face, turning her look into one of confusion.  
"It means I can go home now, doesn't it?"

"It does…" He forced his voice to remain calm and his expression to appear collected, but he couldn't keep the hoarseness from his voice, his throat closing up. "You must be anxious to go home…"

"I… I do miss my cat," she replied feebly. She brushed her hand over her forehead, swiping a strand of hair away, shaking her head lightly as she did so. "I'm sorry… it's a bit much to take in…"

"Don't worry about it until tomorrow…" he advised her gently, pushing his own feelings and sorrow aside and concentrating on comforting her. "Just get some sleep first."

"You're right… it's too late to do anything now anyway…" she murmured, still looking somewhat distracted. "Until tomorrow then…" her smile was back, but hesitant and not really reaching her eyes.   
"Sleep well."

"You too, sweeth…" the endearment almost slipped from his lips, but he caught himself just in time. "Sweet dreams."

He sat on the couch for a long time, staring into the slowly extinguishing fires, his heart heavy and his insides twisted in knots. Eventually he made his way upstairs, pausing in front of her door, fighting the impulse to look inside with everything in him and finally stepping into his own bedroom. He changed into his pajama's and settled into his bed, staring wide-eyed to the ceiling, knowing sleep wouldn't come anywhere near him that night.

The notion that he had been pushing away, that he had studiously ignored these past days now presented itself with full vengeance now. He had been allowed to keep her close and protected under his roof for five days. He had spend the past day warming his lonely heart to her nearness, pretending that they could somehow continue this arrangement, that they could hide from reality forever, safely secluded into his home.

But now that reality had come crashing down on him with the arrest of Frollo, he knew that the game was up and that he was going to have to come clean.   
During his trip into town he had made the startling discovery that Belle and himself were the hottest topic of gossip to virtually everybody. The story of Belle's abduction and his involvement in her rescue had spread like wildfire and with every re-telling new and more far-fetched elements had been added. That Belle was staying at his house had become public knowledge as well and this only fueled the rumor-mill further.   
The stories he had heard had been outrageous, even going as far as saying she was currently pregnant with their love-child, the implication causing both a stab and a thrill to his heart.

Although he loathed that because of him Belle was now subjected to town gossip, the tittle-tattling of the town's busybody's he could deal with. A few well-aimed increases of rent would take care of that problem nicely.

But aside from that, he wasn't going to fool himself: once Belle got outside and mingled with people again, some of the stories would undoubtedly find their way back to her. And even worse so, aside from the rumors, there were people who were keenly aware of the true nature of his feelings towards Belle. People who were also very close to her and much in her confidence.

Eventually they would tell her, either to warn her about his less than honorable intentions or just because the utter ridiculousness of the town's monster's romantic attachment to a lovely, young woman was too good a story not to share.

One way or another, she was going to find out and it was going to ruin their precious friendship. The friendship that he had just, as by some miracle, gotten back All the ease and comfort they had just managed to re-establish would surely bleed out of it, once she was made aware of his unsuitable, completely one-sided feelings.

He had never regretted loving Belle, despite all the torment and heartbreak his unrequited love had brought him. In a way, just loving her and admiring her from a distance had been enough. It had soothed his heart, while he had still been able to keep it safe. Their friendship had been a completely unexpected, but wonderful gift, one he cherished beyond anything else. It had been hard to keep his feelings in check as they had gotten closer, had been difficult to keep a clear head when it was so easy to be completely captivated by her warm and alluring charm.   
Still, loving her had come as easy to him as breathing.   
Not loving her was impossible, but for the first time he found himself wishing he could curb his feelings into a more platonic, more sedate variety.

Losing her friendship again would break him, would shatter what was left of his heart. But she had a right to know and she deserved to hear it from him. Somehow, before she left he had to tell her.

* * *

 

The next morning found him in the kitchen, once again preparing breakfast for them, but the contrast between this morning and the previous day couldn't be greater after the sleep-deprived night he'd spend brooding and worrying. Just as he heard Belle's footsteps on the stairs, the doorbell of the shop rang. With a growl he lowered the burners of the stove, intending to pop down into the shop and quickly get rid of whoever dared to disturb him at this ungodly hour when he heard her call out.   
"I'll get it!"

He listened intently as he heard her footsteps descending the stairs to the shop - she was wearing her heels again, another sure sign she was well on her way to recovery - and voices could be heard a moment later. He relaxed slightly as he recognized the voice of Sheriff Swan, realizing that Belle was at least completely safe down there.

After only a few minutes he heard the door close again and he focussed his attention back to breakfast as she stepped into the kitchen.

"That was Sheriff Swan," she told him. "She would like to come by this afternoon to give us an update about Judge Frollo's and Gaston's arrest, I told her that was all right."

' _So at least she would be here until the afternoon._ ' He was a fool for being happy about this meager putting off the inevitable.   
"That's fine," he replied, risking a brief glance at her. "I'm curious to hear what she has to say."

It was only then that he noticed her puzzled expression.

"She said the strangest thing already…" Frowning, Belle sat down at the kitchen table. "I told her I was glad this was all over now and she said… she said I was free to enjoy my happily ever after now."

He froze, almost dropping the frying pan with scrambled eggs he'd just picked up, inwardly cursing Sheriff Swan and her big mouth to hell and back. Leave it to her to rat him out.

"Do you know what she could have meant by that?"

Of course his beautiful, perceptive Belle immediately picked up on his strange behavior.

He slid the eggs on a plate, willing his hands to remain steady and turned around to face her, schooling his features into a collected expression.   
"I think I know what she meant… but how about we have breakfast first and I'll tell you then?"

"All right…" her face was a picture of confusion now and he cringed inwardly as he sat down across from her. He knew he was being a coward, putting off their talk, but he just wanted one last breakfast, buy himself a few more precious minutes of her company before it all went to hell.

It took only a few minutes for him to realize he had once again allowed himself to be deluded. Sheriff Swan's statement had become the proverbial elephant in the room and it was crystal clear that neither one of them was capable of thinking about anything else. Every desperate attempt on his side to start a light conversation fell completely flat and every time he dared to meet her eyes he found her looking at him quizzically.   
For his part, he was wound up so tightly now that he was barely able to think straight. T

he food in front of him had lost all appeal and he picked listlessly at it, feeling unable to swallow even the smallest bite, physically nauseous with nerves about what was to come.

It took exactly five minutes before she put her fork down and looked at him determinedly. "All right, we're going to have that talk. Now."

His time was up and he knew it. Resignedly he pushed away his plate of untouched food and nodded.   
"All right. Let me clear away the dishes and then we can adjourn to the living room."

Formality appeared to be his best strategy. Perhaps if he avoided any display of emotions, he could in some way dimmish the full gravity of what he was about to tell her. Perhaps that way there would be a shred of friendship left to save once he was done.

She had already gotten to her feet and was looking at him with an even stronger resolve.   
"Leave the dishes, we'll get to them afterwards. I want to know what Sheriff Swan meant by what she said. And why you seem to understand it."

He watched her stalk out of the kitchen towards the living room and stared miserably at the still life of unfinished breakfast at the table in front of him. There would be no afterwards. When he was done telling her the truth about his feelings, she'd pack her things and be gone in a matter of minutes.

By the time he would return to the kitchen, his house and his life would be empty again, with only this small, domestic scene as tangible proof of what could have been.

* * *

 


	14. Something There That Wasn't There Before

Belle was scared out of her mind. Having been held against her will at a dark, cold cell should have given her some perspective of what terror felt like, but confronted once again with his evasive formality and his walls firmly back in place, she felt her insides clench in apprehension, a horrible feeling of deja-vu washing over her.   
They'd had the perfect day yesterday. He had never been so relaxed, so open around her before and with his defenses down at long last she finally got to experience the man behind the cold, distant mask to the fullest.

He challenged her mind and her opinions, never once backing down from an argument, but at the same time so genuinely interested in what she had to say that she never felt she had to tone down on restrain her thoughts or views. He was smart, cunning almost and his reasoning was flawless most of the time and yet she had no scruples opposing him. He was logic and reason, she was passion and conviction and somehow, no matter what subject they tackled, they both came out with a new mindset, even if they were both too stubborn half of the time even admit it.   
Somehow it was never about wining or losing, because sometimes, especially when she was specially ardent in making her point of something he would look at her with those dark, brown eyes fixed on her, looking at her so intently as if he could see all of her. As if there was no one else in the world.

She had never been a particularly vain or coy woman, she couldn't flirt to save her life, but she wanted him to notice her. And more so, she wanted to be the one he couldn't keep his eyes off, the one who could captivate that intense transfixion she sometimes caught in his eyes.

Yesterday had been perfect. The ease and comfort between them, the re-affirmation of their friendship had soothed her still frayed nerves like little else could. She'd never realized so clearly before just how happy she could be with him. She'd been staying with him for only a couple of days, she had been asleep for most of it, but she hadn't felt so at home in a long time. Truth to be told, ever after her dad had moved her from Boston to Storybooke after her mother's death, she'd always felt slightly out of place. Like she didn't truly belong, didn't completely fit in.   
In the warmth of his home - and right now she associated his house with warmth more than anything else - she finally felt like she could belong somewhere.

She wanted to belong to him. So she'd have the right to run her hands through his hair, wrap her arms around him and kiss him until every cloud of anxiety had disappeared from his eyes. She wanted him to belong to her, so that he would never have to feel unloved or condemned or alone again.

Sheriff Swan's words and his reaction to them filled her with dread. She could easily picture her happily ever after herself. With him. Together in every sense of the word. But she had misjudged his interest in her once before and she wasn't going to make that mistake again. Any insinuation that there might be more going on between them, anything more than that he was comfortable with could jeopardize their friendship. Could break the delicate bond of trust between them. Could make him revert back into himself again, shutting her out.   
At least he was willing to talk to her this time, although his tense demeanor indicated that he'd probably rather have his teeth pulled.

Whatever the outcome of their talk was, Belle felt certain it was either going to make or break them.

* * *

 

When he got inside the living room she was perched nervously on the couch, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her eyes fixed on him, filled with confusion and apprehension. Instead of sitting down next to her as he had done in the previous days, he opted for the fauteuil, reasoning it would be better to put some distance between them.

His stomach sank as he watched a hurt look cross her face and he heaved a deep sigh, gathering all the courage he could muster.

"What did Sheriff Swan mean when she said I could have my 'happily ever after' now?" Belle questioned, her voice hoarser and lower than usual.

"Well…" he started slowly. "…Sheriff Swan has become aware of a certain… attachment I have formed. Which is why she made that comment."   
He knew he had answered her without explaining anything and he briefly clung to the hope that it would be enough.

Belle was looking beyond bewildered now, giving him a frowned stare.   
"That doesn't make any sense… she was talking about my happily ever after… what does that have to do with your… attachment?"

"Because it concerns you," he explained gruffly, fixing his gaze on a spot on the wall behind her. "Unfortunately, the sheriff is under the miscomprehension that this attachment is being reciprocated while it's… "

"Please…" she interrupted him, pleading quietly, her eyes huge and dark in her pale face. "Can you stop toying with words and just tell me what's going on?"

His heart ached at the hurt in her voice. She didn't deserve to be strung along like this, she had a right to the truth and perhaps in a strange way, it would be a relief to tell her. To speak the words to her face, even if it was only just once. Steadying himself, he gave her a sad smile.   
"I love you, Belle."

And for a split second every cell in his body warmed up because it was so true and so right to finally tell her, so liberating to speak the words freely at last. Was in that split second this moment the most poignant, perhaps even happiest moment of his life.   
But then he became aware of the silence and the stunned, almost shocked expression in her eyes and he tensed up, his spine turning rigid and the hot prickle of humiliation searing his scalp.

And then he was rambling.  
"As I said, I know these feelings aren't mutual and I don't expect you to reciprocate them… I treasure our friendship more than I can tell you and I have no illusions of it growing into anything more than that. I didn't intent for you to know about my sentiments, but there's been talk and I have been indiscreet about it in the wake of your abduction, so…"

"You weren't going to tell me?" she blurted out. "Y-You love me and you weren't going to say anything?"

Her voice was rising and her eyes flashing and he knew he was right in the middle of massively screwing everything up.   
"I wanted to spare you the awkwardness," he answered dejectedly, his shoulders dropping. "I know that for all that I've done I am an ugly man… I'm not the man you thought I was…"

Involuntarily he echoed the words she'd hurled at him months ago now, the words that had stung and haunted him all that time, although there was no resentment in his voice; he was just stating the stark truth. She would never love an old, crippled monster like him.

At his words, she launched herself off the couch, dropping down on the ottoman in from of his chair and grasped for his hand, holding it tightly between her own.   
"Oh gods… I'm so sorry about that…" Her voice was tearing up, moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes, her face filled with remorse. "I'm so sorry I said that…"

His guilt-ridden mind halted at that, and he stared at her, his mind refusing to trust his ears. She was sorry? She was apologizing to him?   
"Belle…" he started.

"It was a cruel thing to say and it wasn't even true. I just panicked because I thought you were done with me and…" The tear finally dislodged itself from her eye and rolled down slowly over her cheek.   
"I am so, so sorry…"

With every word she spoke, he became more dumbfounded, more speechless. But eventually it penetrated his dazed mind that she was blaming herself, that she had somehow managed to draw the conclusion that he didn't want her. He tried to break across her, tried to get her to stop talking, but when nothing he said seemed to dam the flood of apologies he did the only thing he could think off: cupping her face in his hand he leaned in and kissed her, abruptly cutting her off mid-sentence, causing her to gasp.   
He moved his lips over hers, relishing its soft texture and scent of something flowery that enfolded him. He brought his other hand up to her face, softly, almost reverently caressing the few locks of her that curled around her face, drawing her bottom lip between his own lips, caressing it gently with his tongue. She was softer and tasted sweeter than he could have ever imagined and he argued with himself that as long as she didn't move away, he would continue to hold her and kiss her for as long as she would let him.

When she leaned into him and moved her hands up to his shoulders, clinging closer he thought he'd entered heaven. He was wrong. The moment her lips parted shyly underneath the tender pressure of his tongue, offering him a first real taste of her, he knew nothing would ever be this right or feel so good.   
He explored her mouth gently, trying to become familiar with what she liked and didn't like, his heart soaring as he found a particularly sensitive spot on the roof of her mouth, making her shiver as he teased it.

And then she came alive, her hands sliding from his shoulders into his hair, threading her fingers though it, pressing herself closer against him, returning his kiss without holding back. His own hands moved to her sides and went around her, all rational thought leaving his mind as he could only focus on the taste and feel and smell of her.

Eventually they pulled back, breathless and panting and he rested his forehead against hers, his hands still gripping her waist, unable to let her go. Her pupils were so far dilated he could barely make out the blue of her eyes and her lips were red and swollen and in that moment he loved her more than ever before.   
And he was so tired of resisting it, so tired of the ongoing struggle to keep his feelings in check and to curb his longing. He may have only had a small taste, but now his greediness was insatiable. He wanted more, he wanted all of her and the words came tumbling out of his mouth unchecked:

"I love you so much, sweetheart…"

"I'm so sorry about what I said…" she said simultaneously, anxiety still clear in her voice.

So he kissed her again, slower and deeper this time, trying to convey all of his feelings and erasing all of her guilt at once. There wasn't anything for her to feel guilty over, she had done nothing wrong.

"I am sorry for how I spoke to you," he told her when she broke the kiss, his voice hoarse and contrite. "So very sorry…"

"I love you too," she spoke at the same time, effectively causing the words to dry up in his throat with a highly unbecoming gulp.

She beamed at him, her smile filling her entire face, making her almost glow with happiness. A happiness, he realized with a small jolt, that he had somehow caused. Tentatively he reached his hand back up and stroked the side of her face with the back of his fingers, slowly trailing them across her cheek, her neck and her collarbone, feeling her skin heat up under his fingers, a blush spreading over her skin and her breath hitch in her throat.   
"Gods, I love you…" he murmured lowly.

Next moment she had pulled his head down again, kissing his lips in a sweet, shy, demanding, courageous way that was so characteristically Belle that he all but drowned into her, his hands dropping to her waist again and pulling determinedly as he leaned back in the chair and disconnected their lips just long enough to whisper:   
"Come here, sweetheart."

She followed suit, crawling into his lap, snuggling against his chest and he finally allowed himself to wrap his arms around her tightly, holding her close.

* * *

 

They didn't move for hours, talking between kisses and kissing between talks. There was so much they still needed to share, so much that still needed to be said.

He asked her when she first fell in love with him, the fact alone that she did still boggling his mind and needing to hear an exact mark. When she confessed a bit shyly that she had more or less lost her heart to him three years ago when he had caught her in the library, falling from that stepladder, he was floored.   
But when he declared himself to be a complete idiot after her revelation, she kissed him until his mind couldn't be bothered to care about it anymore.

She confided the full details of Gaston's intimidation to him, telling him of the weeks of fear as he harassed her the moment she set foot outside her apartment or the library and the dread she had endured when he had taken her and held her captive at the storm shelter.   
His kisses became of the healing variety then, loving and gentle, rubbing her arms and her back tenderly until the last pop of tension disappeared from her body.

He told her once again how sorry and how embarrassed he was about his drunken episode three months ago and she finally revealed just how happy and hopeful that night had made her, when she had dared to believe for the first time that he might return her feelings and the passionate and heated kiss that followed left her in no doubt of just how strong those feelings were.

And she finally admitted just how much it had hurt when he had cut her out of his life so suddenly, even if she could now understand his reasons and recognize the pain he had suffered during their separation. If anything, the raw pain he saw in her eyes as she told him how much she had missed him and how lost and miserable she had felt during the weeks they hadn't spoken, truly made him realize just how much she loved him and his kiss was both an apology and a promise to never leave her again.

And there were lighter, more playful admissions as well. He confessed to going to Granny's every morning for the past three years and suffering through a cup of lukewarm espresso, just so he could start his day with seeing her for a few minutes, earning himself a kiss that made his blood boil and his mind go blank.

And blushing profoundly, she confided in a low whisper just what exactly the appeal of the fireplace was to her, a confession that got them out of the chair at long last, but only so that they could relocate to the couch after he had rekindled the fire, their words finally drying up, just enjoying the feel of lying wrapped in each other arms, staring into the dancing flames, completely at peace with the world.


	15. Epilogue

And so the rest of their lives started. He was rather amazed at first by how easy it was to have Belle in his house, in his bed, in his heart, in his life and how soon it became _their_ house, _their_ bed, _their_ life.   
He'd lived a solitary life for over twenty years, he had honestly expected it would take more effort on his side to get used to sharing it with another person, even if it was the most perfect woman that walked the planet.

It didn't.

Even months after they got together, he still experienced that little thrill when he climbed the stairs up to his apartment and knew he was coming home to her. Not that he didn't have his work cut out for him though. Being with her was the easiest thing in the world, but as the weeks went on he started to grow increasingly disconcerted with himself. The evening he had finally opened up to her and told her about Milah, Bae, the fire and the aftermath of it had been a rather eye-opening experience for him in many ways. Apart from the empathy and comfort she had given him, she had also, for the first time ever, offered him a complete new perspective on the events that had transpired.

And although at first he had been unable to even begin to accept her words, his guilt inseparable etched in his mind, over time he began to realize that perhaps some objective input on his memories might not go amiss.   
Rationally he knew - had known for a long time that the way he'd dealt, or rather hadn't dealt with Milah and Bae's passing was a textbook case of unhealthy denial and suppression. But until Belle he had never had any incentive to change it. But now, for the first time in his life, he wished to be free of the dark clouds of guilt and grief, wanted to claim his mind and thoughts back.

And so he had made a long overdue appointment with Dr. Hopper. If he had any illusions of feeling unburdened and generally happier after that first talk, he was sorely mistaken. After a one-hour session he felt like he had run a marathon and had gotten beat up afterwards.

But the admiring look in Belle's eyes after he'd gotten home feeling like a train-wreck and had told her where he'd been, her loving support and her obvious pride at the steps he was taking had made him grit his teeth and carry on.

Eventually the talks with Dr. Hopper started to bear fruit. The frustration of not having been able to save his son's life while he had been so close - perhaps almost literally within an arm's reach would always be a part of him, but the crippling, poisoning feeling of self-reproach began to lessen over time.   
He became better at discerning the difference between the perception of his mind, which tended to jump to worst possible conclusions and the signals he was actually picking up.

It became easier to deal with other people, especially after he realized that his reputation of being the town's monster was as much caused by his own bias as by how he was seen by others.   
He didn't turn into the town's mascot, nor did he have any inclination to become that. The past twenty years had changed him and the man he had once been, eagerly seeking respect and approval of the people around him, was gone for good.   
He was still private, still rather stiff around people he didn't know well and still cynical at times, but slowly he allowed more people in, Ruby being among the first people he called a friend.

And once their weekly sessions came to an end and Archie Hopper became just a regular man to bump into at Granny's Diner again, he quickly discovered that the man was actually an interesting conversation partner. On Belle's insistence he invited him over for dinner, at first not really reading much into the fact she promptly invited Ruby to join them as well, until he actually noticed the shy glances exchanged over mashed potatoes and tentative flirting between the town's physiologist and waitress.

It took five dinners over the course of two months before Archie plucked up the courage to offer Ruby to walk her home afterwards, something he had been suggesting the man to do for weeks, knowing from experience now that it might just be a very good start at deepening their relationship.

And after all, he owned Ruby this favor.

* * *

 

In the aftermath of Claude and Gaston Frollo's arrest, sheriff Swan finally disclosed the full details surrounding the case. After a blissful morning of confessions, kissing and affirming their love for each other, the grim tale had made him realize with stark clarity once again how close he'd come to losing Belle.

The day prior to the Frollo's arrest, sheriff Swan had brought in Donny LaFou for questioning. Perhaps to his credit it had taken considerably more pressure than anticipated before the faithful sidekick started to talk. But eventually he confessed that Gaston had been staying at a plot of land where the family's vacation trailer had been parked, nursing two cracked ribs from the blow Gold had dealt him after he had attacked Belle.

Gaston Frollo and his father had been brought in at the same time and were questioned separately. The evidence against them had been overwhelming, but where Claude Frollo had cooly denied any accusations, Gaston had cracked almost instantly when confronted with them and the whole heinous, tragic truth had come spilling out. By the time he had finished his confession all his outward bravado had left him, leaving a sniveling, crumpled boy in its place.

As it turned out, Claude Frollo, cold, calculated and completely deprived of any empathy had been a tyrant to his son for most of his life, had controlled his every move and had dragged him along in a religion-fueled craze that had been feeding his sadistic personality for years.

The room at the storm shelter Emma and Graham had discovered during Belle's rescue had been filled with randomly taken snapshots of townspeople going about their day. Gaston had quickly confessed to taking them at his father's orders. There had been a ton of pictures of Belle, taken across town as she was entering the library, having dinner at Granny's or even doing something as mundane as grocery shopping. The knowledge that Gaston had been stalking her like that for months made his blood boil, especially when he learned how Claude Frollo had finally snapped during the interrogation and had launched into a shouted tirade on how Belle belonged to him, how she was his rightful reward after he'd managed to purify the town of evil.

There had also been an entire wall in that room donned with pictures of those who Claude Frollo considered to be viperous brood and he wasn't surprised in the slightest when the sheriff informed him that his picture had been right on top.

With the threat he possessed, his blatant insanity and the full scoop of his shady dealings finally coming to light, it was improbable that Claude Frollo would ever be a free man again and he would in all likelihood spend his life sentence at a psychiatric ward. Considering what he had put Belle's father through, Gold was deeply satisfied with this outcome.   
Gaston would equally serve a lengthy jail sentence, but considering the mitigating circumstances because of the mental abuse he had suffered at his father's hands, he would eventually be released again. He and Belle disagreed heavily on the justice of that sentence, Belle believing he deserved a second chance and hoping that a life away from his father would put him right, him being unable to forgive the man for everything he'd done to Belle, even if he could to some degree feel sympathy for him. Eventually they agreed to disagree and he vowed silently to obtain a thorough restraining order the moment Gaston was discharged from prison.

* * *

 

_Six months later…_

He would never grow tired of kissing Belle. Of the softness of her lips and the warmth of her mouth. Of the wonderful tiny sounds she made in the back of her throat that never failed to intensify his desire manifold. Of the silky soft feel of her cheek as he gently stroked it with his fingertips. Of the way her hand curled around his unoccupied hand, lying on the table. Of the way her other hand had buried itself into his hair, her fingers stroking the long strands at the back of his neck and her nails softly scraping his scalp.

A faraway sound was persistently breaking through his kissing-Belle-induced haze and it took him a while to realize someone was scraping his throat to the point of coughing up his lungs.   
With a start he came back to reality and he realized with some mortification that he had allowed himself to get so much carried away that he'd forgotten that they were in the very public surroundings of Tony's restaurant and that one of the owners was currently standing at their table, carrying two chocolate mousse desserts and a wide smirk.

"I could pack these up for you, signor Gold."

The amusement made Tony's Italian accent thicker than ever, but one look at Belle's sparkling eyes, slightly swollen, red lips and the obvious love that radiated from her face and he couldn't bring himself to be bothered.   
"It's your call, sweetheart," he told her, raising their intertwined hands and kissing the tip of her fingers.

"Well…" she pretended to think things over, before smiling rather wickedly. "How about we finish _this_ dessert here and make our way home then?"   
Her smile then turned soft and warm and all breath left his lungs.   
"We have all the time in the world."

"We do…" he echoed incredulously, his voice filled with wonder.

He watched as Tony placed the chocolate mousse in front of them, the earlier smirk gone from his face and replaced by a pensive look.  
"I think I will…" he muttered under his breath. "I'll ask Mary-Therese to marry me. It is time…"

Coming to his senses again, he gave a wry smile and a little bow. "Enjoy your dessert."

Eyes wide and shining, Belle watched him walk away, his gait a little unfocused. "Who'd have thought?" she asked grinning.

"The stallion found a stable at last," he commented drily, sending Belle into a fit of giggles.

Once dessert was finished, they made their way to the cloakroom, which in this small restaurant was nothing more than a corner near the door, but to his surprise Luigi - who hardly ever ventured out of the kitchen - was waiting for them, handing out their coats, being sensible enough to allow him to help Belle into her coat.  
"I hope you've enjoyed your evening?" Luigi asked carefully. 

"Oh yes, it was a perfect anniversary," Belle beamed at him.

Sneaking a glance a Tony, who was scrubbing a table with a far-away look on his face, Luigi leaned in and whispered:   
"Anytime you want to come back, you'll always find a table and a bottle of wine here, no reservations needed. I owe you both big, big time."

A startled moment later he found himself on the other side of the door with Belle laughing softly into his shoulder. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her close, feeling her melt into his side. Kissing her temple, they started to walk towards the car, ready to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing! This was my first Rumbelle story, I literally started it the morning after I watched Skin Deep, so it'll always have a special place in my heart.


End file.
